Keep You

Keep You Copyright © 2005 by Cindy Rosenthal All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, PO Box 4351, Grand Junction, CO 81502. ISBN: 1-933389-53-2 Printed in the United States of America. Torquere Press electronic edition / March 2006 Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, PO Box 4351, Grand Junction, CO 81502.

http://www.torquerepress.com

'Dove', 'Damon', 'Santa Clara' and 'Not A Nice Place' are copyright Chris Owen 2002-

2004, used with permission.

"Keep You" lyrics by Queencab, copyright Ryan Lamey. Used with permission.

Quote by Martin Luther from the public domain

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this one’s for the ladies who love the boys like I do and never hesitate to tell me so

many thanks: Alice, for letting me bend her ear and keep her up Chris O, for Dove Chris W, for setting me straight on some dungeon stuff Ruth, for Gabriel Winters and pin-up boys and glory Sandra, for the art and the best email ever Ryan, for letting me use his song Mom and Dad and Debbie, for not freaking out when they learned what I write and Lorna, for poking me, prodding me, whapping me with a trout, and keeping the faith even when I couldn’t

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Everything that is done in this world is done in hope. --Martin Luther I said I love you to keep you here I said I love you to keep you I love you to keep you here --Queencab, “Keep You”

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PROLOGUE This is Marseilles, the dark parts of Marseilles where the tourists never go, and this is Simon’s city, British boy though he is. Sometimes he’ll go to a disco or a bar or somewhere, and it's all a matter of saying the right thing to the right person, being able to pick his mark out of a crowd and knowing the rising sun will find him with cash in his pockets. Sometimes he’ll set it up ahead of time. Sometimes he’ll trust to fate that someone will come along and want what he has, and be willing to pay what he asks. And sometimes he’ll throw up his hands and say "fuck it" and just go dancing. And so that's what Simon is doing. He's dressed to kill, because it feels like that kind of night, and he's got some francs stuffed down his boot, just in case, and his nipple ring is just visible through the tight tank he's wearing. He's high enough to take the edges off and make the world bright and pretty, and if he can't forget what the rest of his life is like, well, he can't bring himself to care about it very much either. He is hard and careless and beautiful and sharp enough to cut you open, and if you want him you can have him, provided you meet his price. But if he comes to you and does not make a deal, do not assume he wants you that badly. Simon acts on the whims of his libido, and sometimes it, too, throws up its hands and says "fuck it" and wants nothing more than an uncomplicated night of dancing and coming on to pretty strangers, no strings attached and no money exchanged. Just hands and hips and mouths, maybe a few whispered words, a hard fuck before the sun rises over the sea. If he wants you, you'll know it. He may not want much, he may not even care if you buy him a drink, or if you have drugs to share. He may just want someone to dance with, someone to watch him moving on the packed floor. But whatever it is, he will tell you, and not many people ever say no. A year later and it is winter on the islands and Simon sits on the beach wrapped in a blanket, watching the nighttime sea, and he's happy. He has friends. He has a lover. Sometimes he has money. The sex is great. The beer is cheap. He is young and pretty and indestructible London couldn't kill him, although it tried, and Marseilles couldn't kill him, although it tried harder - and although he's alone on the beach, he is not lonely. Somewhere behind him are people and laughter and chunks of feta and slices of tomato and cigarettes and perhaps some good drugs, but for now he sits on the sand wrapped in an old army blanket, watching the black, black sea and thinking of nothing in particular, and pleased on all accounts.

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PART ONE – LOS ANGELES Chapter One Two days after his birthday, Jay Bonney packed some clothes and his money in a backpack, caught a bus to the Greyhound station, and left home for California. Two days after that he got off the bus in Los Angeles, and two days after that he had a bed in a shelter for homeless and runaway teens. The shelter’s ultimate goal was to reunite kids with their families, and to that end they wanted Jay to call home, even though he tried to refuse. “I can’t go home,” he told the counselor. “My dad will kill me.” It was a little melodramatic, but close enough to the truth in his mind that he hoped the counselor would believe him. “What about your mom?” the counselor asked. “Don’t you think she might be worried about you?” “I don’t know. Maybe? Probably.” Now Jay felt guilty. He’d been trying not to think about his mom, what she must be wondering and how much he missed her. “Don’t you miss her? Just call her to tell her you’re okay. You don’t have to talk to your dad.” So he called home, hoping to talk to his mom but getting his younger sister Lily instead. “Where the hell are you?” she demanded. “When are you coming home? Mom’s freaking out.” “I’m, um, I’m in L.A.,” Jay told her, a little rattled that she’d answered the phone. “L.A.? What for? Dad’s pissed.” Jay didn’t know how to answer that, but it didn’t surprise him. His dad spent a lot of time pissed off at him. It was one of the reasons he’d left. “So when are you coming home?” Lily went on. “It’s, like, insane here.” “I’m. Um. I’m not.” He was glad the counselor had given him some privacy. He didn’t want to have to face her, not after she’d tried so hard to get him to agree to call home. “I like it here. It’s sunny and warm and I like the beach.” He hoped he sounded determined and defiant. In reality he probably sounded scared. “The other kids are, are okay. It’s okay, Lily. I’m okay. Tell Mom, tell her I’m okay.” And he hung up before she could say anything else. He was a sweet boy, but innocent and inexperienced, and because it was in his nature to trust strangers (because it was only the people he knew who hurt him), when someone said “You owe me money but I know how you can pay me back,” Jay felt reassured that it would work out. But when things started to collapse they crumbled to dust remarkably quickly, and in short order he found himself hustling and homeless and more scared than he'd ever been in his life.

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And then he met Simon. Simon Kay was four years older and four inches shorter, and had seen and done (or at least said he'd seen and done) an astonishing array of things in the past six years. He was sun-bleached and suntanned, pierced and proud, a hustler, a single-minded boy, and good at what he did. Simon had a pierced eyebrow, a pierced nipple, and a ring in his cock, and Jay was embarrassed to admit how much that turned him on. “You strung out?” Simon asked him once, as they sat in a little coffee shop to hide from the rain. Jay felt like he hadn’t slept in weeks, and he figured he looked at least that wrung out. “Huh?” “Drugs, kid. You on drugs?” Simon peered at him, then shrugged. “You want a reliable dealer, I know a couple guys. Don’t recommend it, though, pretty thing like you. You end up working for the high, and it’ll kill you.” “Oh. No. I don’t, um, I don’t take drugs. I’m just really tired.” “Where you sleeping?” “I’m not. I mean, I was, uh, I was living in a, a shelter, but they kicked me out, and I’ve been kind of, of, kind of hiding in diners and, and empty buildings. Trying to hide from the cops and not, um, not get killed.” He blushed. He hated that he’d been reduced to sleeping in abandoned buildings and on the beach. He was afraid of getting picked up by the police and afraid of getting robbed and beaten, and now he was afraid to even look at Simon because Simon was so tough and so self-reliant, and Jay was so naïve. But Simon just said “Huh,” and then “Flatmate fucked off on me. Can move in with me if you want.” Jay looked up and Simon was grinning at him. “Unless you like sleeping on the beach. Get sand in my shorts, me.” So Jay took him up on the offer, because what other choice did he have? The apartment walls were paper-thin and the air conditioner only worked half the time and the showerhead was broken and the neighbors were scary, but it was a roof over Jay’s head and besides, it had Simon in it. Simon taught him where to stand and how to get the most money for the least risk, how to recognize a soft touch and how to recognize a warning flag, where the cheapest condoms could be bought and where the most condoms could be stolen, what streets to haunt and what people to avoid. Simon dressed him up and took him out and sold the two of them as a package deal, and Simon dragged him into alleyways and public bathrooms on their offhours and fucked him up against the wall, or sucked him off, or bent him over the toilet seat and made him shake. Simon’s presence made Jay’s existence a little more bearable, but Jay wasn’t made for the life he’d fallen into, and so he hid in the library when it rained, or when it was too hot to do anything, or when he couldn’t face another day, another night selling his skinny ass. He read

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old newspapers and biographies and travelogues about France and art books and histories and anything he could get his hands on. Simon laughed at him; Simon wasn't a reader. Simon was an education and a lifesaver, and it wasn't long before Jay thought himself in love. Simon looked after him and tried to teach him how to protect himself, which was more than anyone else had ever done. And even though Simon tied him up and bit him and left bruises, in their apartment as well as for paying johns, Simon also swiped a poster of the Sistine Chapel for him and almost got busted for lifting a book about Rembrandt from a bookstore Jay liked. When Jay called home to tell his mom he was okay and that she shouldn't worry about him, he got his father instead and endured a full fifteen minutes of abuse before Simon grabbed the phone. “The fuck is your problem?” he demanded. “Oughta be grateful your kid’s alive and not dead in a ditch somewhere.” Jay wondered what his dad was saying and then decided it was probably just yelling and not really important. “He called to tell you people he was okay,” Simon went on angrily. “Thought you might be worried about him. Got an idea why he left, now. Woulda left myself, I had to put up with your bloody stupid – you fucking cunt.” And he hung up. Jay swiped at his eyes. He was so embarrassed – he hated crying in front of people. Simon went into the bathroom and returned with a wad of toilet paper, and handed it to Jay. Jay blew his nose and scrubbed at his face. “Come on,” Simon said, taking his arm and pulling him out of the apartment. Simon took him to a bar and got him drunk with a fake ID, held his head while he puked, awkwardly stroked his hair and murmured soothingly while Jay cried himself to sleep. In the morning Jay had the worst hangover in the history of hangovers, but when he tried to thank Simon, to tell him how much it meant that Simon’d taken care of him, Simon just shrugged it off and went out. And Jay was grateful. There was nothing hard about him, nothing tough – he was tall and skinny, and his medium brown hair hung in his gray eyes and always looked like it needed to be cut. His jeans were frayed and his T-shirts faded, and he looked like an easy mark, because he was. He looked like the kind of boy who needed someone like Simon to take him in hand and guide him through the minefield, even if Simon sometimes led him off the safe path on purpose. Sometimes Jay thought he'd be dead, or at least dead inside, without Simon. Even though sometimes Simon hurt him, sometimes left him, sometimes made him do things he really didn't want to do. But Jay was used to pain from people who should love him, and Simon always came back. Simon looked after him. Who else would come to his rescue when someone beat up on him?

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There must have been an argument first, but Jay was never sure what it was about. He only knew that one minute he was standing on the sidewalk, enjoying the sun but hating his life, and the next minute another rent boy named Michael was in his face, and the minute after that Michael had slammed his head hard into a wall, and there must have been a jagged bit of brick or stucco because it dragged across his forehead, cutting him open. Jay was too surprised and it hurt too much for him to fight back or even say anything. But then Simon was there, punching Michael in the jaw, hailing a cab and pushing Jay into it, shouting directions, taking control. “Nearest hospital, mate,” he yelled at the cabbie. “Now!” Simon never shut up, the whole way to the hospital. He yelled at the cabbie to drive faster. He cursed Michael out, fluently, breathlessly, in languages Jay didn’t know. He told Jay everything would be okay, he'd be fine, they'd clean him up and sew him up at A&E. Jay wondered why they were going to a cable TV station. But he was still a little shocky and in pain and, really, too scared to ask. Besides, he was worried that if he opened his mouth to say something, he'd throw up. So he was quiet while Simon ranted and raved. He felt the blood dripping into his eyes and tried to wipe it away. He really wanted to put his head on Simon's shoulder and nap, but he was afraid if he did that he'd stain Simon's shirt, and he'd already fucked up enough for one day. “You do anything?” Simon demanded. “That bitch Michael say anything? Is he high? What the bloody fuck’s his problem? Why the hell didn’t you hit him back? Could use a good smack, that one, shoulda broke his jaw. Make him go back to hand jobs, the stupid cunt. Mouth’s only good for fucking anyway. You oughta know better, didn’t I tell you, you stay away from the junkies, don’t care how pretty they are, you go somewhere else, there’s always another corner – “ "Don't yell," Jay whispered, "please don't yell, it hurts, are we there yet? Where are we going?" "Told you. A&E. Emergency. Should've hit him harder." "I didn't do anything. I swear." It seemed important that Simon know that. "I believe you. It's gonna be okay. Just stay awake for me, yeah?" "Okay. I think, I think I got blood on you. I'm sorry." "Christ, Jay, don't worry about that. Should teach you to hit back."

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Simon kept talking until the cab came to a halt in front of what Jay guessed was the closest hospital, where Simon raised his voice and made a scene until an intern took Jay into an examining room. The intern had a harried expression but very steady hands, and she asked Jay what had happened as she washed off the blood and stitched him up. "I got in a fight," Jay mumbled. He wanted Simon to come back there and hold his hand and tell him he'd be fine, but they'd made Simon wait - fuming - out by the front desk. "Next time, duck," the intern said. "You got sixteen stitches, it might scar a little. The stitches will dissolve. I put gauze over them, which you can take off in a day or two, but don't pick at them, okay? There are also some scrapes and you’ll have a bruise, but you're all cleaned up. I just have to give you a tetanus shot and you'll be done. Wait here." She left. Jay stared at the wall and tried to keep his eyes open. He wasn't quite so dizzy anymore, and he figured if he'd made it this far without puking he wasn't going to, but he was so tired, he just wanted to lie down and sleep. The intern came back, gave him the shot and some Tylenol, and sent him to the front desk to fill out paperwork. Simon stopped pacing long enough to demand of the intern that Jay stay overnight. "He could have brain damage!" he practically shouted. "He'll be fine," the intern said. "Watch him just in case, but his head's not bad enough to warrant an overnight stay." "You insensitive, fucking cunt," Simon spat. "Simon..." Jay started to say, trying to cut him off and get him to leave so they could go home, but Simon had wound himself up and couldn't stop. He roundly cursed out the intern, the hospital, and the entire American health care system at the top of his voice until security showed up to manhandle him outside. Jay followed. "Can we go home?" Jay asked. "Please? I promise I won't let him get that close again. I'll, I'll try to hit back. Whatever. Just, please, let's go. I don't, I can't stay here." "Bastards," Simon muttered, glaring balefully at the door before turning to Jay. His face softened and he took Jay's arm. Simon was strong. Simon would take care of him. "Yeah, we'll go home." *** After Jay’s head healed up Simon coaxed him out of the apartment and back to work. No money to be made hiding in the house, he said. Gotta face the world so it knows it hasn’t

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won. In this case, “facing the world” meant selling themselves to mad johns with weird fetishes, fucking in hotel rooms for someone else’s pleasure. This motel was clean enough, but the rug was rough underneath them, and Simon could just guess how Jay's skin was rubbing raw against it, hands and knees dug into the scrubby pile. Simon looked up, over Jay's sweaty bare back, and smirked at the john. They called him Father John because Simon was convinced the guy was a priest - he had that look, like one of the parish priests he remembered from home, and he did this weird benediction thing with his hands when you were through. He asked the boys to call him John, which just made Simon laugh. A lot of things made Simon laugh. You had to laugh, he told himself in quiet moments, or you'd break. Or you'd break someone else. Jay moaned under his hands, pushed back against Simon's hips, and Simon couldn't see the boy's face but knew he was biting his lip trying not to come. Simon leaned over, leaned down, whispered, "That's good, luv, make some noise," into Jay's ear. Jay groaned obligingly, a low, throaty sound that made Father John suck in his breath. Simon glanced up, pale blue eyes dark now and half-hidden under damp, sun-bleached hair, and he knew one of the reasons Father John liked them was because he thought Simon was dangerous, and because he liked to watch and Simon loved to perform. Father John was sitting in a chair, facing the boys; if he leaned forward far enough he could touch the top of Jay's head, could brush back the fine, brown hair and see the jagged scar along his hairline where that bitch Michael had slammed him into a wall. Father John hadn't opened his pants, he never did, but he kneaded his crotch with a distracted expression on his face. Simon dipped his head to hide his disgust (damn priests, hypocrites, the lot of them), pressed his lips against the back of Jay's neck, whispered "Close, are you?" and then louder, so Father John could hear, "You like that?" It was a cue. Jay took it. "Harder," he gasped. "Hard - fucking hell, Simon, HARDER." Simon stifled a giggle. Poor Jay, he thought sometimes, having to fake it. Jay never made demands like that, and really didn't like to be watched, but Jay did this because the money was decent, because as johns went the Father wasn't bad - creepy, but not bad - and because Simon wanted it. "Come on, up with you." Simon wrapped an arm across Jay's chest, pulled him upright so they knelt together, chest to back, sitting up. Simon's free hand closed around Jay's swollen cock. Simon thumbed the tip, feeling the pre-come leaking out of it, knowing Jay couldn't hold back any longer. He nibbled Jay's shoulder and Jay's head dropped back; the boy had no breath left to even moan. "Not long, yeah?" Simon whispered. "He's lovin' it, he is. Bloody hypocrite. Your hand, Jay." Another cue. Jay's long fingers clenched around Simon's hand and his own cock, and the two of them pulled together as Simon thrust his hips as far as he could, the ring in his cock pressing inside Jay's ass, rubbing and pushing and driving Jay on. Jay trembled under Simon's supporting arm, his entire body visibly shaking with the effort of holding back his orgasm.

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"Aim," Simon hissed, not caring if Father John could hear their signals or not. "Come for me." And Jay did, arching his back and spraying the good Father with salty release. Father John had leaned forward to catch it on his face, and while Jay sank back against Simon, gasping and shuddering, Simon's arm tightened across Jay's chest and Jay's hips bucked and he ground out what might have been a curse as he came. "Lovely," Simon whispered in Jay's ear. "Fuckin' perfect." Father John licked his lips, tasting Jay's come, smiling distantly. He pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and wiped his face. The boys separated, stood up, put their clothes back on. That part didn't interest Father John in the least, and while Jay cleaned up with some soap and water, the good Father counted out money into Simon's hands. "Thank you, boys," he said. "Same time Thursday?" "Sure thing," Simon said. Jay came out of the bathroom, his face still a little flushed and his eyes huge and storm-dark, the way they got when he was aroused. Simon was half-tempted to take him out back behind the motel and go down on him, just to keep that look on his face. But it was too soon, Jay wouldn't be ready, not mentally anyway. Father John did that benediction thing with his hands, murmured something that Simon would swear was Latin, and the boys left. Jay went back to the apartment, but Simon carried on. Places to go, people to do... It was near sunrise when he got home, money in his pockets, a hamburger and fries in his belly, several Newcastle Brown Ales in his head. He was a happy camper. He sauntered unsteadily toward home, taking the long way from the bus stop, singing old Sinatra songs in a cracked tenor. Jay slept hard, curled in a ball on the edge of the mattress; a box of sleeping pills and an empty glass sat on the table next to the bed. Couldn't sleep without drugs. Simon felt maudlin and sentimental, the way he got sometimes when he'd been drinking and was pretty content, so he allowed himself the insight that Jay really wasn't cut out for the rent boy gig, and they'd have to try and get him into films or something, or maybe he could model, do something anyway that didn't involve him selling himself to strangers all the time. Simon took a couple of aspirin and drank several glasses of water, peed, brushed his teeth, then stripped off his clothes, climbed into bed, and curled around Jay's comatose form. He breathed in the smell of Jay's skin, the soap Jay'd scrubbed himself with when he got home. Jay no longer smelled like sex and sweat and cigarette smoke - he just smelled like Jay. Simon nuzzled against the boy's shoulder, snuggled close, and fell asleep. *** A warm spring evening, could be any evening, and Simon was on the prowl - you could see it in his walk, the swagger and strut, and you could see it in the way he scanned the crowd, and you could see it in the predatory look in his pale blue eyes. You could see it in his clothes,

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tight and black, the way the pants rode his hips just so, the way the shirt was tight enough to show his nipple ring and the flat muscles in his chest and belly. You could see it in the way his gaze fastened on a pretty boy at the bar, a pretty boy with curly, dark hair and suntanned skin and an easy, open smile. Simon glided over to the boy, whispered in his ear. The boy blushed and grinned, looked down at the bar then over at him. The grin was still open and easy, but the boy's eyes - those eyes were hot and sly and he wanted everything Simon offered, everything and more. Simon walked off toward the men's room, slinking through the crowd like music, like smoke twisting in the air. After a heartbeat the boy followed like Simon knew he would. Into a stall, door locked, and the boy straddled the toilet, leaning forward over the tank, hands flat against the tiled wall. "Off," Simon commanded, tugging on the waistband of the boy's jeans, and the boy obediently unzipped them and pushed them down past his hips. His cock was half-hard already, bobbing free of its denim prison, and Simon reached down and around to give it a few quick pumps with one hand while his other hand unbuttoned his own pants and shoved them off. A little spit, a little more. One finger, two. The rip of foil and the careful rolling of lubricated latex over Simon's cock and the ring in it. The boy hissed in what could have been pain as Simon thrust inside him, gripped his hips tight enough to bruise and fucked him fast and hard, panting and groaning and gasping out words. “Wanted you the second I walked in, saw your sweet, tight, little arse in those jeans. Sexy boy by the bar, waiting just for me.” And the boy moaned and sobbed “Yes, yes, fuck me harder, dammit, harder.” And Simon did. “How often you get fucked in the men's room, luv? Can tell how much you like it.” So close so quick, and Simon pulled the boy up and pressed teeth against the boy's shoulder as Simon came. The boy shuddered and swallowed a cry, and then his hips snapped forward and he shot against the toilet and the wall. Simon licked the side of his neck, told him he was lovely, a perfect fuck, and then pulled out, dropped the condom in the toilet, put himself together, and was gone. *** A warm spring night and he hunted pretty boys out of the crowd, and you could see it in his walk and hear it in his voice and smell it on his skin that in five minutes he could shake your

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world down to nothing, bend you over porcelain and take you hard, and the most you could do was ride it out and understand that no one you would meet all night, no one you would touch, would fuck you like he could. Jay knew it, counted on it, and this was why he’d left home, he thought, as Simon's legs wrapped around him and Simon's mouth crushed his - this feeling, this rocking, falling sensation, the waves and the pain and the rain pounding the trees outside. This was what he'd come to find, teeth on skin and tongues inside, this immersion in another human being, this helpless, hopeful, headlong crash. He didn't know where the road went, he didn't care. All he cared about was Simon's mouth on him, Simon's hips against him, Simon's fingers inside him. Simon's voice rasped in his ear, telling him how gorgeous he was, how sweet and hot and tight, Such a good boy you are, gonna make you see stars, I am, Christ I'm so hard and you're beautiful when you come. And soon, Jay knew, they'd flip, rolling, holding tight to each other, and Simon would throw Jay's long legs over his shoulders, would lick and suck Jay in places Jay would never have imagined being licked and sucked a year ago, would roll Jay's hips up and fuck him like it was their last fuck before the Apocalypse, pound him until Jay indeed saw stars. Simon's hands dug into Jay's ass, his moaning louder as Jay turned his head and bit into Simon's sweat-shiny shoulder. Bite marks and blood, and Jay knew Simon could come from the pain of it, knew Simon had. Nothing to hand but suntan lotion, a half-empty bottle on the floor, and Jay shifted his weight, reached, flipped the cap and squirted it on Simon's chest. Simon laughed, his voice deep and thick. Jay ground his hipbones against Simon, planted his hands flat on Simon's chest, rubbed them up and down the other boy's belly, his ribcage, his collarbones and his straining shoulders, long hard strokes using arms and shoulders and back muscles, rocking back and forth, up and down, pressing and kneading, drawing moans from Simon's mouth and harsh panting breaths from his own. "So good," Simon gasped, "hard and strong... Ride me, Jay, ride me 'til I break." So Jay did, slathering his hands again with lotion, coating Simon's cock in long upward strokes, from the base of the shaft to the creamily glistening tip. Jay wanted to catch those pearly drops on his tongue, wanted to taste Simon's come as he had tasted Simon's spit and sweat and blood. It mesmerized him like an undulating cobra rising out of a basket, and he thought if he listened hard enough he could hear the snake charmer's flute, could hear the anticipatory hiss as the snake spread its hood and flicked its tongue and bared its fangs before it struck. But no, all he could hear was ragged breathing, his and Simon's both, almost like one person in the room. Simon's hands clenched his ass, fingernails raising tiny welts, and Jay gasped,

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shifted again, drew Simon sliding into him. They ground together, rocked and rolled, the ring in the head of Simon's cock pressing into Jay in the most distractingly pleasurable way, that steel ring with its little steel ball rubbing and gliding as Jay moved and Simon moved under inside - him. Simon bared his teeth, lips peeled back, and Jay knew Simon wanted to bite him, wanted to eat him whole, suck his bones and blood until there was nothing left. "Yes," Jay hissed, thinking Yes, yes, break the skin, here in my throat, swallow all of me and take me inside you so we're one single thing. Simon filled him completely, there was no room for anyone or anything else, Jay so full of Simon's cock he had to let something out, needed to drain himself away to make space for this sun-bleached boy who'd taken him in, taken him over. Jay frantically pumped his own cock, which was heavy and hungry and now unbearably hard, his cock that knew the cracks and crevices of Simon's body as Simon knew the cracks and crevices of his. Simon's fingers dug into his ass, Simon's cock, and the ring through it, thrust and pounded. Simon's eyes were on him, dark and hot and heavy-lidded, half-open and glazed, and Simon's back arched, his hips rising, pushing in so far Jay could taste him in the back of his throat. It was so much, too much, and Jay shook like a tree in a hurricane, threw back his head and howled as he came in great spurts between his slippery fingers, as he sprayed Simon's chest and felt Simon climax, too. Then the only pounding was the rain outside, no noise in the damp sex-and-coconut-oilscented apartment but the sounds of two boys starting to breathe again, and soft sucking sounds as they licked each other, nibbled on lips and shoulders, stretched out and whispered. "Loved that," Simon said softly, his breath warm against Jay's mouth. "Made me see stars, you did." And Jay, too full and too happy, could only smile and nod and know that this was all he wanted, this afterglow, this body under his, this voice and these hands, this room and this feeling. His whole world right here, against his skin, around him and inside him. It was all he'd ever needed. *** Simon, who could give Jay everything in five minutes, Simon needed more. Sometimes he just needed pain. Jay couldn’t do it, too afraid to hurt him. But for once, when Simon needed it, he didn’t press. He knew where to go.

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He called it the Dungeon because it was - below street level, windowless, with chains hanging from the ceiling, bars and posts and a bewildering array of implements and equipment, men and women who get paid to deal and to accept pain. One of Simon's favorites was a Dom named Chet, a big man with strong, steady arms and (or so Simon always thought) a silly name. He wore a black leather executioner's hood, cut away to expose his mouth and chin. He knew what to do with the knotted leather cat-o-nine hanging from his wide, studded belt, and more importantly he knew what Simon wanted. And what Simon wanted was to bleed. He stood very still as Chet locked his wrists in the manacles, as Chet fastened the cock ring around his mostly-soft prick and his balls. "Safe word?" Chet rumbled. He had a deep bass voice like the sound of an oncoming train. It raised the hairs on Simon's neck in anticipation. "Keener." His real last name. He never used it since he left home six years ago, except as a safe word. "Keener." "Make me bleed." Maybe Chet nodded; Simon wasn't sure. The man was standing behind him, for one thing, and he didn’t want to watch himself in a mirror this time. He didn’t want anything to distract him from the pain he knew was coming. He took a breath. He relaxed his knees. He planted his feet. He thought about Jay, who would be appalled, who didn’t understand how good it could feel to be bound and lashed and released. You would have thought Jay would at least understand this: the giving up of control, the relinquishing of responsibility to another person. Chet would direct the pain where Chet thought it will be most effective, and Simon would say nothing except, if necessary, the safe word. He could hear the swish of the leather tails in the air and then the slap of the knots on his flesh. He jumped, because he always jumped the first time, and he screamed, because sometimes it helped. Chet didn't care one way or the other, unless you wanted him to. Simon didn’t. He listened to the leather whistling behind him, the cat wielded by a strong arm and guided by a trained and talented brain. He listened to the knotted ends slapping against his skin. He thought he could even hear that skin turning red, maybe purple, thought he could hear the flesh underneath rising in welts.

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Chet set up a good rhythm - swish - smack - swish - smack - sometimes pausing between swings to tease or caress Simon with the tails or the leather-wrapped handle or the knob on the end. The stings - and the teases - traveled down from just below Simon's shoulder blades to his ass and the backs of his thighs. His muscles clenched and jumped and quivered with each blow, and his cock was so hard it hurt, constrained by a cock ring and unable to come. His eyes closed, his head dropped back; he’d stopped screaming, and now the sounds coming from his mouth were part moan, part sob, and part laugh. Sometimes you had to laugh. His motto. But now all he needed was this: to hear the singing of the nine tails and the silence from Chet and the "Christ, hit me harder" sounds from his own mouth. He needed to feel the throbbing of bruised skin and the sharp ripping as that skin broke and the sting of sweat in the open welts. He needed to smell the vinegar tang of sweat and need and desire, needed to smell Chet's dedication and his own desperation. And he needed to come, Christ he needed to come. He couldn’t, not yet. It couldn’t end. It hadn't been long enough. He could still see. Simon's hands unconsciously pulled against the manacles, trying to reach his bound, swollen cock, trying to ease the stretch and ache in the hot flesh and the heavy balls, trying to open a gate to release his orgasm. The chains clanked. He thought he heard Chet grunt, and he grinned a strained grin, lips peeling back in more of a grimace. Then the Dom whipped him again and his focus narrowed to that one thing, nothing else in the entire world but the hard knots and how they bruised and broke his skin, how they opened him up and scoured him out and turned his insides to liquid and running fire. If Jay could see him now he would run screaming, or he would faint. Simon had passed out once, hanging from another ceiling, yelling himself hoarse and coming and coming, hips jerking spasmodically, and still the whip had landed on his skin and his brain had detached from his body and his eyes rolled back in his head and he was gone. Down for all of ten seconds, because the whip had stopped and someone held something under his nose and his head had snapped up, but he couldn't focus, couldn't stand when they unlocked him. Back then it had taken four hours before he could even imagine someone touching him. He still had the scars on his back. He considered it one of the most incredible experiences he'd yet had, but he was young and stupid and didn't know any better. Now he could feel the knots tearing his skin. He could feel the blood starting to trickle down his back, warm, slow trails curving around his ass, pooling in the crack, tickling his skin. The strange, sobbing laughter had subsided, replaced by moans and gasps and sharp, hitching breaths, and every so often Simon whimpered, because the pain was deep and burning and a double handful of sharp stings like knife-edges along his skin, like shards of glass, and his body vibrated with it and with the pulsing of his cock and the stiff trembling of the ring at the end of it. His hips snapped forward, fucking the heavy air, fucking nothing, and the cat-o-nine came down across his lower back and his skin ripped and his eyes flew open and he couldn’t see.

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Shapes, vague outlines, spots dancing in front of his eyes. He pulled in a breath. He couldn’t pass out now. It was time. Color caught his eye - a boy with spiky, blue hair kneeling in front of him, leaning toward his painfully hard, painfully red cock. The boy looked up and grinned like a shark, and Simon managed a smile, because he knew the boy was wearing black eyeliner and black lipstick, and he always was a sucker for a boy in makeup. The boy leaned in, delicately tongued the end of Simon's cock, wiggled the ring. For half a second Simon forgot how to breathe, and then the boy wrapped hands around the backs of Simon's knees and swallowed him whole, all the way to his balls, and he forgot even his own name. The tails swished and slapped against his back, blinding, white pain burning the skin. The boy sucked and Simon had no breath to moan, and how could he possibly explain this to someone, to Jay? How could he explain how it took him out of his head, took him out of himself, how after a while you almost didn’t feel the pain anymore? How could he explain the lightheadedness and the constraints on his cock? How could he explain the suspension of time, the way he was caught in the endless pleasure of Right Now? How could he explain what the rush felt like when he could finally come? Sometimes he wanted to hang from chains and have someone whip him out of himself. He wanted the shuddering, shaking release, the feeling that his eyes would pop out of his skull, the banging of his heart in his ribcage and the spreading lines of pain on his skin. He fucked the blue-haired boy's hot, eager mouth gracelessly, desperately, and then hands came up, unsnapped the cock ring just as what turned out to be the final blow landed on his back, and Simon was coming and coming and coming, pouring his life down the boy's throat, thrusting so hard he could break the boy's jaw, his teeth. His heart was racing faster than if he'd taken speed. His climax had taken his breath and his sight and every sense except touch, and although Chet had stopped and snapped the cat in the air away from him, Simon could still feel it, could still feel the ghostly sting of leather on bruised and broken skin. His back throbbed and pinged and his cock hurt still. The boy sucked gently now, licking until Simon was empty and soft and clean, cupping the now-released balls in a warm palm, murmuring unintelligibly against the hot skin. Simon sagged in the manacles. He'd have to be carried back to the dressing rooms. He'd have to be carried home. Finally, finally, the boy stood and Chet unlocked the manacles, catching Simon as he fell bonelessly forward. Chet nodded at the blue-haired boy, who lifted Simon's chin and kissed Simon's mouth before walking off. Chet practically carried Simon back to the dressing rooms, where Simon could lie down for a while, or shower, or sit in the steam room, or even find someone for a hard, anonymous quickie. Before leaving Simon'd see the Dungeon's

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nurse, who would look at his abused skin and want to bandage it, and give him something to prevent infection, and send him on his way. He’d go home, eventually, to Jay. Not yet. He had to come back to himself first, let his stripes start to heal. Jay panicked when Simon disappeared, but he panicked when Simon was hurt, and Simon would rather stay gone for a day or two, since he couldn’t explain what this pain meant for him, couldn’t explain how it felt or why he needed it sometimes. He didn’t know why he needed it and couldn’t explain in words why he loved it, he only knew he did.

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Chapter Two (Truth) He thinks he loves me - he says he does - and I know it hurts, but I have to laugh. What's to love? I took him in, yeah, but I needed help with the rent, didn't I? And he was sleeping on the street, and I've been there and it ain't pretty. Someone had to look after him, teach him what to accept and what to throw back. What to do, how to survive it. 'Cause I'm a survivor, me, I'm tough and I'm hard, and he's a soft boy from nowhere, needs someone to take him in hand and tell him what's what. He's a reader and a thinker, he is, shy and young and too skinny for his clothes, and he's a sweet one, tall and willing and innocent; he's never done anything so he'll do everything, especially if it's me doing the asking. Got a tight arse and an eager mouth, and you wouldn't think to look at him but he's beautiful when he comes. And he says he loves me. And I laugh. So I told off his dad. So what? Silent fifteen minutes on the phone, kid listening to his fucking father who should be grateful he's still alive and not dead in a ditch somewhere, and I haven't a clue what he's saying, but yeah, I grabbed the phone, bitched the old man out and hung up. Got the boy drunk, held his head while he puked. He tried to thank me in the morning, and what for? It's what you do - get people pissed so they forget. He doesn't dance, doesn't like drugs, was too rattled to fuck. Simple solution for a simple boy. And he says he loves me. (Lies) And you wonder if I could love him back. You know what that does to a bloke? Cuts you down, rips you out from the inside. Makes you soft, makes you vulnerable, takes your independence and your strength. You let someone inside and they can hurt you. Better to hurt yourself. And I do. Oh, Christ, I do. Cut me open, make me bleed. Real blood, not heart's blood, and it's real pain, given by knotted leather and shiny metal tips wielded by whipcord arms. That's the stuff, that's what I need - not this love shit, where it breaks you apart and the scars don't show. You can see my scars, luv, that's how you know I've been hurt, how you can guess I'm shattered and badly mended inside, how you know I've grown hard and strong, and now you know, too, I always ask for it. The other kind? Don't ask for that. Don't want it. Had it once and it near killed me, and I said I was a survivor, didn't I. I let it go, wash it off. I laugh at the world and it bounces off me. When it gets too hard I walk away and leave it all behind.

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And I dare you to tell him that and have him believe. Because he says he loves me. One day the boys went to the beach, because that’s what you did when you lived in L.A., even if it took you at least an hour on the bus to do it. They brought a bedsheet to lie on because they both hated getting sand in their shorts, and today by some grace of God they'd managed to snag a spot under one of those big beach umbrellas that were spaced irregularly down the beach and always seemed to be occupied. It meant Jay could take off his T-shirt (which he did) and stretch out (which he did) and take a nap (which he was doing) and not have to worry about getting sunburned (which had happened). The last thing he was aware of was Simon chatting sociably with a stunning, blond transvestite in a yellow sundress and Veronica Lake hair. He'd dropped off somewhere in the middle of their conversation, lulled by Simon's accent and the trannie's soft voice and the sound of the ocean somewhere underneath. A tongue on his neck and a hand on his chest woke him up, and for a minute he thought someone's dog had joined them under the umbrella. Dogs liked him for some reason - they licked him and jumped on him and begged and barked and followed him around like he had steak in his pockets. It was weird. But no, this was just Simon. "What're you doing?" Jay mumbled sleepily. "You taste like salt." "Duh. I'm sweaty." "Salt and... mm..." Another lick. Jay twisted his neck trying to get away from it. "More salt. “Bread warm from the oven, you are." "Can I go back to sleep?" "You can try." The hand on his chest moved to his nipple and tweaked it. Jay's shoulders twitched. He turned his head and made a put-upon face at Simon. "What's that for?" "You're up, yeah? Might as well enjoy it." Simon shifted closer on the sheet, although they were lying pretty much shoulder to shoulder already, flung a leg on top of Jay, turned the boy's head, and kissed him. His lips were warm and salty (Like me, Jay thought), his tongue insistent but unhurried. He was a good kisser, Simon was. But there were people around who could see them. Jay had a thing about public displays of affection - this stuff could get him nearly killed back home, would at the very least earn him

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a serious smacking from his dad - probably hypocritical considering how he made his money, but this was for fun and it made him uncomfortable. He stiffened and Simon pulled his head back. "What now?" "People watching," Jay whispered. "There's people out here, Simon. They can, they can see us." "So?" Simon stroked down Jay's chest, running a hand gently over warm skin, soothing tense muscles. Jay closed his eyes, opened them, took a deep breath. He wanted to explain to Simon what it meant to think people would hurt two boys just for kissing. He opened his mouth to try but Simon kissed him again, and there were just some things Jay couldn't argue with. Besides, they were lying in the shade of a big umbrella, which shielded them a little bit. And if they were quiet maybe no one would notice them... Fat chance of that, though, as Simon rolled practically on top of Jay, one hand sliding to the waist of Jay's cargo shorts, hips grinding down, the other hand tangling in Jay's sandy hair. Simon could be extremely quiet when he wanted to, and he was being quiet now, but his fingers tickled Jay's skin and Jay could feel himself getting hard, and when Simon's teeth closed on Jay's lower lip an involuntary moan escaped. "There we go," Simon murmured, grinning. "Forget about the people?" Simon's fingers snaked inside Jay's shorts, stroked the base of his cock, tugging on the coarse curly hairs. "No, I know, I, I... Stop, please, Simon, stop, I can't..." "Shh. I'll take care of you, yeah? Afterwards we'll just jump in the ocean, wash off. No one's watching. No one cares." "But, but they do... They... Aah..." Oh, Jesus Christ, he was hard, and his balls were starting to ache, and Simon was going to make him come in his shorts right here on the beach in full view of, of, of everyone. Just going to touch him and stroke him and, and kiss him, and... And... "Shh," Simon murmured again, into his open mouth. The way Simon was lying on Jay you couldn't really tell for sure what Simon's hand was doing, trapped as it was between both their bodies. But if you watched closely you could see Jay's hips jerk, could see his toes curl and his heels dig into the sand under the sheet. Jay knew. He knew what all those people on the beach could see. It wasn't like him to put on a show. Public performance was more Simon's thing. But Simon's hand was squeezing the base of his shaft now, and Jay could curse the people who made

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these damn shorts so damn baggy, because once under the waistband Simon had all this room to maneuver. But at least his shorts were still buttoned, he was still clothed. Then Simon's hand pulled out and unbuttoned the shorts, opening them to allow for better access. It was like Simon had read his mind. Jay's back arched, rising off the sheet as Simon's warm fingers wrapped around his now throbbing cock and pulled. "Stop," Jay panted. "Please, please, please stop. I don't, I don't want... I don't..." "Pretend we're alone," Simon whispered. "No one here. Just us, the ocean, the sand. The beach deserted. Listen to me, yeah? Just my voice. Nothing, no one. No dogs. No people." As he murmured his hand moved faster, his hips and thighs pinning Jay down, his free hand stroking Jay's face, calming. "Relax, luv. Breathe in and out. Feel my hand, here." He brushed Jay's temple, pushed back the soft, sun-streaked, brown hair. "Trust me. Be quiet. Be calm." Simon's hand moved up and down Jay's cock, pulling and pulsing and sending those little tremors all through Jay's body. Jay's eyes were half-closed, his mouth open, and he knew his face was flushed and the sweat on his forehead wasn't from the sun, and damn but Simon was good at this. "Simon..." "Right here, luv. Always right here." "I'm gonna, I'm so, so, and your, your hand, and, and, and I can't, I can't believe - " "Shh." Faster and faster, Simon's hand and voice pulling Jay away from the beach, out of himself practically, and he was going to fucking come in his cargo shorts, and he wanted to cry out but the sun reminded him, he was outside. In public. "Simon... Simon…" His voice cracked, high and almost squeaky from lack of air and the effort of holding in his orgasm. He couldn't breathe. "Let it go, Jay. Come for me." And Simon's mouth came down on his and swallowed his cries as his muscles locked and his entire body shook (as much as it could with Simon's weight on top of him) and he did exactly what Simon wanted. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?" Simon murmured. Jay blinked at Simon, trying to get his breath back and his brain working. Simon's pale blue eyes were bright and hot on his face. Jay could feel Simon's cock heavy against his leg, and he wanted to shimmy out of his damp, sticky shorts, roll onto his stomach, spread his legs, and let Simon fuck him senseless.

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"Into the water with you," Simon said, rolling off, buttoning Jay's shorts like his mother and giving him a push. "Go, wash. Later we'll find ourselves a nice quiet patch of wall" - Simon leaned in close, whispered against Jay's mouth - "and I'll shag you blind." Jay nodded dumbly. But that's exactly what he wanted. Mostly the shagging blind, but also someplace besides a public beach in which to do it. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then jumped to his feet and ran into the water before anyone could notice the stains on his shorts. Five minutes later Simon splashed in and tackled him, laughing like a lunatic as they both went under and came up spluttering, soaking wet and happy. *** So not every moment in his life was terrible and hard and painful, but that didn’t mean Jay liked it, didn’t mean he wanted to keep living it. "I don't, I don't think I can stay here," he said to Simon, one day when they were sitting in a coffee shop killing time. "I wanna leave. Go somewhere else. San Francisco. Start over. I can't, I can't do this anymore, be this, this, this person." Simon leaned forward across the little table, pushed Jay's hair off his forehead, ran a finger over the scar at his hairline. "It'll follow you," Simon said. "Can't escape it. This - it's what you are." Jay pulled back, shook his head. "It didn't used to be," he said. "At home? I was, I was just this boy, I went to school, I didn't " "Inside, luv. Who were you inside? What did you want?" "Not this." Jay looked down at his cup. He started shredding his napkin, then stopped and looked up. "Let's go, okay? Let's just leave, take a bus - Michael says - " Simon snorted. "What? He says San Francisco's better, there's a big scene, we can, we can do something else. You can dance, or model, or whatever. I can go to college, we don't have to, to, to do... what we do. Every day, on the street? Every night? Going behind buildings, or in cars, or, or motel rooms, or - we can be happy." Simon was watching him with a half-smile, like Simon was about to laugh. Jay realized he'd been babbling, and his eyes dropped back to his empty coffee cup and he blushed. "That's what he says, huh?" Jay nodded without looking up. Simon chuckled. "Wants to get you out of town, he does. You believe him?" Another nod. "I wanna see it, Simon. He says it's pretty up there, and the ocean's so blue." "What's it here, then? Orange?" Now Jay looked up. Simon was grinning, teasing him. Simon reached out again, brushed fingers across Jay's cheek and down his jawline. "Hate to burst your bubble, luv, but it's the same everywhere. Water's blue in Greece, too. People are just as

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ugly." Simon’s voice was soft and sad, but Jay didn't believe him. Simon had never met his father. "I could take you back home," he said, "and you could meet my dad. That's ugly. It's beautiful here. No one knows me, and I can be with you and, and not worry so much. I'm not, I'm not scared, like I was. I have you." Simon chuckled again and ran a finger around the inside of his cup, wiping up some errant bits of foam, and sucked the finger thoughtfully. "If I left, you'd come with me, right? I don't wanna go without you." "Have to start over." "That's the point." "Don't know anyone up there." "Did you know anyone here? When you first came?" "I did, yeah." And now Simon shook his head, smiling sadly. "Another story for another time." "If, if we went to San Francisco, you'd know me. Michael says he knows someone, some guy who could help me find a job." "No doubt. You believe everyone, don't you? Wouldn't know a hustle if it bit your sweet, little arse." "He's not - " Simon shook his head again. Jay swallowed a protest. Michael had apologized for running him into the wall and cutting his head open. Simon didn't understand and Jay didn't want to argue about it. He'd rather argue about San Francisco. "Bloody expensive city," Simon said. "We'll live at the Y." "They'll love us, sure. Rent boys corrupting the innocent." He grinned and Jay thought he might actually be serious. "I won't, if we go. I wanna do something normal, I wanna be, um, I don't - " He made a face, frustrated. Why couldn't he just say it - I don't want to be a whore. "I know," Simon said gently. "You're not cut out for it. We'll find you something else. Guess you don't want to act, huh?" "No, I just - I wanna go." Jay dropped his head into his hands. He'd miss the sun and the beach, but he could start over - he knew he could, he'd done it once already, coming here - he could try again. And if he took Simon he wouldn't be alone. He'd be okay.

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It was hard to know sometimes what would push Simon's buttons, what would convince the man. Persistence, maybe, and Jay could do that. He'd just bring it up again, wait for one of those times when Simon got pissed off at someone or something. He'd just slip it into conversation - We could go to San Francisco and you wouldn't have to deal with that. "Jay, baby, listen. It's all the same. Scenery changes. People don't. Not around here." "How do you know?" "Been around the block a time or two, haven't I? Been there, done that. Seen a bit of the world." "So you can see more." "Maybe." Simon shrugged. "Finished your coffee? We oughta go." "Just, just think about it, okay? I'm reading about it at the library, looking stuff up online there's a couple of these clubs, you'd like them, they're, like, bondage clubs, you can tie people up, and, and, and be tied up, or whatever, and - " Simon put fingers over his mouth, trying to shut him up. "Okay, okay, I'll stop talking about it. But will you think about it? Please?" "Sure, I'll think about it. San Francisco. Starting over. S&M clubs by the Bay. Yeah, okay." Simon fished in his pocket, pulled out some bills, gave them to Jay. "Pay for these, yeah? Gotta take a piss, then we'll go." He stood up, went back to the men's room while Jay took the money and the bill up to the cashier. He'd keep bringing it up, and if he was stubborn enough maybe Simon would give in eventually. And even if Simon was right, and everything was bad everywhere, San Francisco couldn't be any worse than anywhere Jay had already been. And besides, he wasn't leaving unless Simon came with him, and he was sure that as long as they were together, everything would be okay. *** He had this forward momentum, slight as it was, but he was still occasionally reminded how much the life he lived and the person he was differed from the life he wanted and the person he couldn’t wait to be. Like today, a nice sunny day, he lay on his stomach on the grass at the UCLA campus, reading a book borrowed from the girl who worked in his favorite coffee shop. He'd been going there long enough and she'd seen him reading enough times and had talked to him enough to feel comfortable loaning out her books. "Besides," she'd said, "if you hate it at least you haven't spent money on it." He really liked her. She gave him free coffee sometimes and two-day-old scones. And she loaned him books.

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The grass was warm under his stomach and the sun was warm on his back, and every so often he'd look up from his book to watch the college kids walking around. He'd been to the campus with Simon before, otherwise he'd never have had the nerve to come here by himself. He felt so out of place sometimes, watching the students with their books and their clean clothes and their normal lives. Although today he hoped his cargo shorts and gray T-shirt would help him pass. Sometimes Jay was acutely aware of the way other people looked at him, and sometimes he wasn't. With his head down and his eyes on his borrowed book, he was pretty much oblivious. At least he was until he was attacked by a dog, a medium-size mutt who looked to be part German shepherd and who bounded up to him barking happily and wagging all over herself. She licked his face like she knew him and butted against his shoulder and generally acted as if she'd taken a lot of doggie speed. Jay tried to fend her off, couldn't, tried to rescue the book, succeeded, and collapsed on his face, laughing helplessly. "Sally!" called a girl, and then he heard it again, closer - "Sally! What are you doing?" The dog backed off enough for Jay to raise his head and wipe the slobber off his face. He blinked. There was a girl kneeling in front of him, rubbing the dog's ears and looking at him cheerfully. "Sally Belle," she said, "why are you tormenting this nice boy?" She used the same tone people always seemed to use on their dogs around Jay, the same tone they used to talk to their babies, and they always looked as if they expected the dog to answer. Jay blinked again and struggled to sit up. She'd called him a nice boy. ("Must not know you very well," he heard Simon laugh in his head. Even the voices in his head teased him.) And she was pretty. If he could have distilled everything he liked about this city into one person, she would be it. She was wearing a short, light blue skirt and a white T-shirt, with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and the barest smudge of shiny, pink lip gloss. She had three little hoop earrings in one ear and two in the other, and one of those macramé chokers with hematite beads, and a courier bag slung over her shoulder. Oh, she was cute. He'd bet she wore bikinis to the beach and knew how to surf and slept in her boyfriend's T-shirts and boxer shorts. And now she was talking to him while she held her dog's collar so the beast couldn't attack him again. "You look really familiar," she said. "Aren't you in Gregson's Astro class?" He shook his head. "Really?" He nodded. "Well, you look like someone who is, then. I'm Shellie, this is Sally Belle." "Jay," Jay said. "I'm Jay." Sally Belle licked his face and Shellie laughed. "I swear I've had a class with you. What'd you take last semester?" "I, um, I don't go to school here."

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"Really?" Her nose wrinkled adorably as she thought. "Hm." She shrugged. "Oh, well. Nice to meet you anyway. Come on, Sally, leave the poor boy alone. Let him read in peace." Sally's answer was to lick Jay's face again. Shellie grinned. "She's such a flirt. I think she likes you." "I guess." He rubbed the top of the dog's head and could swear she grinned at him. Could dogs grin? "Oh, definitely. If we weren't in a hurry," Shellie said pointedly to the dog, who seemed to ignore her, "we could stay and play some more. I have to take her home and she doesn't want to go," she said confidentially to Jay. "Come on, Sally Belle, you can have cheese." That must have been the magic word, since Sally's ears perked up and she stopped grinning at Jay, instead rubbing up against Shellie's legs and almost knocking the girl over. Shellie stood up. "Say goodbye to Jay, Sally Belle," she said to the dog, who now seemed to be more interested in the possibility of cheese. "Bye, Jay. See you around." She tugged on the dog's collar and headed off. Jay stared after them for a minute, then let his head drop on the ground. God damn, but he hated his life. He wanted what that girl had so very badly - a professional haircut, a class schedule, clothes she hadn't had to get from the Salvation Army or Goodwill. Her air conditioner worked. She didn't have to sit on the bus for an hour to get to the beach. She could have a dog. She probably didn't have a Simon, but she also probably didn't have a Michael or a Father John or the occasional scary encounter of the trapped-in-a-car-with-amental-case kind. No one had to steal condoms from the drug store for her. She didn't have to go to the library or borrow books from coffee shop waitresses to be able to read everything she wanted to read. He had to get out of here. He couldn’t wait to leave. This was making him nuts, and he couldn't even concentrate on his book anymore. He didn't belong here, and he wondered how Shellie hadn't seen that. She'd thought he had a class with her. She'd thought he was like her. He wasn't, but maybe someday he would be. Someday he'd have what she had; he'd be someplace and someone he wanted to be. It'll follow you, he heard Simon say in his head. But it wouldn't. It couldn't. Simon was wrong. He had to be. *** Maybe Simon was wrong, but that night he just couldn’t bring himself to care. There were very few things he liked as much or more than sex, and this was one of them - a threequarters-full club, a DJ who knew what he (or she) was doing, a generous crowd. Simon could dance to anything, anywhere, under pretty much any circumstance, but this was his favorite. It was the one true thing in his life, the only consistently good thing. People came and went, jobs, cities, lives - everything eventually changed - but not this, not the song, the

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beat, the stomp and glide and step and sway. You were never alone on a dance floor, even when you were the only person there. Simon showed up early enough to beat the cover, had a beer, scoped out the crowd, and when the beat grabbed him (as it always did) he slid onto the floor, twisted his way into the song, took it and shook it and made it his. Eyes closed, feet sure. Sometimes he could feel people watching him, wallflowers and other dancers, and sometimes it made him better and sometimes he didn't care. He liked being watched, liked knowing people liked to watch, but there were times when the only thing that mattered was how he felt, what the song did to him, how the beat thumped in his chest and the melody swam inside his skull. Tonight was one of those nights. He'd put on his vinyl pants and mesh shirt just because, and if someone wanted to chat him up he wouldn't complain, but he wasn't on the prowl, he wasn't hunting. He was just dancing. The first song took him away - it was a dance remix of something he didn't know, but it pulled him out and shook him hard and he was gone, somewhere else. Someplace he didn't have to sell himself, didn't have to do things for other people or to other people, didn't have to wait around, didn't have to take orders. He'd dance for a living if he had a choice, do it for the pleasure of dancing, but to go out and find a club and shake his ass for his own self - that was better by far, better than shaking it down a catwalk or on a stage, even for people who got hot watching and who would pay him for showing off. No, he wanted to do it for himself. No one to see, no one to care, no one to tell him he was doing it wrong, he should change his routine, add this or take out that, use different music, smile more, smile less. It was just him and his shiny pants and his scuffed boots that were old and broken down and his one concession to comfort over style in this image-conscious place. Forty minutes, an hour, and sweat dripped down his face, darkening his hairline and his eyebrows, and his shirt was sticking to him and he needed something to drink. Another beer and a glass of water later, and a girl in a pink satin corset and black, poofy skirt at the bar asked for a light. Simon was a social smoker, a drinking smoker, he didn't possess his own cigarettes, but he had a lighter, an old scratched Zippo that he flipped open and on with practiced grace. She gave him one of her clove cigarettes, said her name was Gloria. "Like the Van Morrison song?" Simon asked, and she just looked blank. Cute, he decided, but dumb. Or drunk. Or both. Not that he cared one way or the other, and fifteen minutes after that she was on her knees in the alley behind the club, her clove-scented, blackburgundy lips wrapped around his cock, pulling and sucking and teasing the ring in the head, and he clenched his hands in her flyaway, yellow hair and panted and groaned as she swallowed him down. Drunk and dumb, maybe, but she knew how to use that mouth. She rubbed against him after he'd come, after he'd buttoned his pants, and she pushed him against the black-painted wall of the club and kissed him hungrily and a little sloppily. He

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could taste himself mixed with the cloves and the rum-and-Cokes she'd been drinking. And he could have gone home with her, she would have taken him, but he didn't want to. He went back inside - the night wasn't over, and there was still music to appreciate. He ought to save his money, he decided, take off for one of those big, international dance festivals, the ones with the star DJs, Ibiza or Goa or wherever they were, and for three days, or however long they lasted, he'd drink and dance and shag and dance some more, seventytwo consecutive hours completely out of his head with the beat and the melody and the press of like-minded bodies, the communion of the crowd. He'd wear a sarong, go barefoot like a hippie. He'd bring Jay, and they'd dance all night under unfamiliar constellations and in the middle of the day they'd crawl into the shade to fuck and sleep. Jay could bring his books, could read to Simon about sixteenth-century traders and pirates and what all those patterns in the sky were, and Simon would dance until he couldn't feel the bottoms of his feet, until he collapsed in exhaustion and ecstasy. But until then, this would do. They had to kick him out, him and a knot of people, when the club closed, one of the bouncers practically picking him up and throwing him out the door. It was better than drugs - some drugs - the high he got. Cheaper, more easily shared, and it was like sex, orgasmic and relaxing, and like sex he was good at it because he liked to do it. He knew he was a good dancer like he knew his name and shoe size and the date he was born. He was graceful and slinky and stompy and ethereal and proud and whatever the music called for, whatever the song wanted, that's what he gave it. It knew his name, caught him where he lived, and whatever happened to him, wherever he went, whoever he was with, it all fell away when he danced.

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PART TWO – LEAVING LOS ANGELES Chapter Three Jay had had a not-terrible night, all things considered. Money was okay, johns weren't too weird. Now if Simon would just get home, they could shower together, maybe have mad monkey sex, and go to bed. Jay was a little twitchy, waiting, horny and a bit nervous. He felt wanted, if not exactly loved, and needed to show Simon how it passed on. But Simon was out. Jay paced the apartment, getting more and more worried. There was nothing on TV, which was fine since he couldn't concentrate, and he didn't want to read, and he didn't want to go jerk off in the shower, although he knew that would relax him. It was past five. Where was Simon? Was he not coming home, had he disappeared again? A knock on the door startled Jay nearly out of his skin. No one knocked on the door at five in the morning. They used their key. He went to the door, peered through the fish-eye peephole. Three men, it looked like, two he didn't recognize and the one in the middle had to be Simon, because his hair was the right color and he was wearing the clothes Simon had left the apartment in. Jay opened the door. It was Simon, supported between two large guys Jay didn't know, his head down, apparently either drunk or high or asleep on his feet. "You Jay?" one of them asked. Jay nodded, puzzled. "Sorry if we woke you." "I was up," he said distractedly. "Simon? What's wrong?" "We found him," the other guy explained. "He wouldn't tell us what happened and he refused to go to the hospital." "Bit me," said the first guy, holding out a hand to show Jay the half-moon of bite marks. "Told us to bring him home, so we did. Said Jay would take care of him." "That's me," Jay said. "What... Okay, thanks." The two guys didn't let go of Simon so much as pass him over. He fell forward against Jay; he looked like he'd been fighting. "Simon," Jay asked softly, "what happened? Where've you been?" "Fuckin' Russians," Simon muttered hoarsely. "Wankers." "You oughta take him to the ER," one of the guys said, "he looks pretty bad." "No, I'll, I'll take care of it," Jay said automatically. "Thanks."

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"You sure? Okay, man, take care. 'Night." The two guys walked down the gallery, down the stairs and away. Jay staggered into the apartment with Simon hanging on to him and closed the door. "Where've you been?" he asked again. "What happened? What... what did they do to you?" That last was said in a whisper as they stumbled into the living room and Jay got a good look at Simon's face. He had been fighting, and it looked as if he'd lost. One eye was purple and black, swollen nearly shut. There was blood caked in his hair, streaked along his temple, running down past his black eye, painting his lips and chin. His jaw was bruised, his knuckles scraped raw on both hands. He held his arms across his chest as if his ribs hurt. Blood stained his shirt in uneven, crimson patterns, but when Jay managed to get the shirt off, after a significant amount of protest and swearing on Simon's part, Jay realized it wasn't just some other guy's blood, or spray from what had been a bloody nose - no, whoever had done this had even ripped out Simon's nipple ring. Jay bit his lip, swallowed, grateful there wasn't anything left in his stomach. He had a sudden, vivid mental picture of someone grabbing the little, steel ring and yanking. He saw blood spatter in slow motion, heard Simon scream. He looked up at Simon's pounded face. Simon crooked a grin. "Russians," he rasped. He swayed. "Jesus H Christ, Simon," Jay whispered. "Holy, holy shit." "Yeah... Jay. Gotta lie down." "Right, right, oh, fuck, Simon, what the hell...?" Jay propelled him toward the couch, where he collapsed. "Just, just sit there, I'm gonna get the, the, the stuff. Okay?" "Okay. Gonna sit." Jay scuttled into the bathroom, threw things around until he found the first aid kit. Mother of Christ, he thought again, what happened? And how was HE going to take care of it? He felt panic creeping up on him, but managed to push it down. Only one of them could fall apart at any given time, and this time it just couldn't be him. He could be strong here, he could. Jay skittered back out to find Simon sprawled on the couch, leaning sideways against the back. Jay sat down next to him, studiously avoiding the clot of crusting blood and fluid on his chest, trying not to look at the bruises rising on the tanned skin, and opened the first aid kit, balancing it across both knees.

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"Okay, okay," he said, trying to keep the tremors out of his voice, trying not to sound scared, "I'm gonna, I'm gonna clean you up a little, okay? It's gonna hurt. Okay? But I'll be gentle, I'll try, I promise. Simon? Say something?" "...yeah," Simon mumbled. He still sounded hoarse, as if he'd been screaming. "Hurt me, yeah." "No, I don't want to, I won't. You can, you can yell, okay? If it stings." Jay spilled the cotton balls out of their little baggie, opened the travel-size bottle of rubbing alcohol, soaked a cotton ball in it. He took hold of Simon's chin and turned the other man's head to face him. Simon stared at him dazedly. "I'm gonna start with your mouth, okay, and your chin, there's blood everywhere." Jay dabbed gently at Simon's chin, wiping the blood away. Simon closed his good eye. When Jay moved up to his mouth, he flinched, and Jay realized he had a split lip and had just dribbled blood down his chin. But it didn't look too bad; it looked like it would heal okay. "That's just a little cut," he said soothingly, "it's not bad. You okay?" Simon shrugged slightly. Jay soaked another cotton ball, pushed Simon's hair back with one hand and wiped Simon's temple and forehead with the other. Simon jerked his head away repeatedly as Jay cleaned him up. There was probably nothing they could do about the blood in his hair aside from sticking his head in the shower, but otherwise Jay did a fairly decent job of getting rid of most of it. Jay couldn't tell if Simon would need stitches anywhere or not, or if Simon was concussed, or even how long ago he'd been beaten up. "Do you have a headache?" Jay asked. "Are you gonna throw up?" When Michael had slammed his head into a wall, he'd felt dizzy and like he was going to puke, which apparently meant some kind of minor head trauma, but not enough to keep him in the hospital. He dimly remembered Simon being told to watch him, though, in case he'd had brain damage. Oh, shit, oh, shit, Jay thought suddenly, brain damage. "No," Simon said. "Just tired. Hurts." He shook his head slowly. "Bastards. Bloody... fucking bastards." "Jesus, Simon, your face, your poor face." Jay's fingers settled lightly on Simon's cheek, spread to avoid the bruises and the scratches. Simon twisted his head. Even that little bit hurt him. Jay's hand dropped to his thigh. "I'm sorry," Jay whispered. "I said I wouldn't hurt you." "Haven't," Simon said. "Much." He opened his good eye, tried to smile. "I'll... I should... heal. I'm tough, yeah?"

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"I guess. You have to go to the hospital, get, get this looked at." Jay waved the cotton ball at Simon's ruined nipple. "It could get infected and I'm, I'm afraid. Afraid to clean it. That I'll, I'll, I'll really hurt you." "Sting like a motherfucker. Not going to hospital." The eye closed and Simon's head dropped back against the couch. "Won't." "You have to, you could get, you could get, I dunno, gangrene." Jay tried to think of a good, scary disease. "Blood poisoning. Hepatitis. Shit, I don't know. They'll sew it up, and, and make sure it's all clean, and I can't do that, and you look like, like... like your ribs are broken." "Bruised. Cracked. Maybe. Not broken. Don't." And here Simon turned his head, opened his good eye again, looked at Jay with what had to be the most desperate look Jay had ever seen on him. It was frightening. "Don't make me go." He clutched at Jay's arm. "Please." "Okay, okay, I won't." Jay looked down at the hand clenched around his arm, at the scraped knuckles. He could at least do something about that, he thought, and gently pried Simon's hand off. He swabbed both hands, wrapped them in gauze from the first aid kit, placed them on Simon's thighs when he was finished. "Angel of mercy," Simon murmured. "Looking after the mad. stupid boy." His voice was coming back. He shook his head. "So kind... it'll hurt you. Rip your heart out, it will." He sighed. "I'm sorry," Jay said again, feeling helpless. He didn't know what else to do. He spit on his finger, rubbed at some of the dried blood on Simon's chest, then took a couple of Band-Aids from the first aid kit and covered the ripped nipple. The more he had to look at it the more he thought the little ring had been deliberately cut off, and not ripped out. He didn't think just pulling on a ring could cause that much damage. "Sure you don't - " "Yeah, I'm sure I don't want a doctor. I'll bite you, you try it." "You want some aspirin or something? We still got some Demerol, I'll get you some water, okay? You should take one of those and, and you'll be able to sleep." Although it looked as if Simon was already asleep, his head resting against the back of the couch, his eyes closed, his whole body slack. Jay squinted, and yes, he was still breathing. "Just, um, just don't fall asleep yet, okay?" He thought Simon nodded. He ran into the bathroom, couldn't find the Demerol, remembered it was in the kitchen, ran into the kitchen, found the bottle, poured some cranapple juice into a glass, and ran back out to where Simon seemed to be awake again, mostly because Simon's good eye was open and blinking at Jay. "See?" he said, as Jay gave him the glass and fumbled with the bottle cap. "Got my own chemists right here. Don't need to go to hospital."

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"Except I can't, fuck, I can't get this open..." "Let me." Simon raised his arm two inches and let it drop again. "Christ. Just scrape me up and dump me in the bin." He sounded tired and defeated and that scared Jay too. "Okay, got it, here, take one." And he shook a pill onto his palm, and Simon obligingly opened up, tongue sticking out, and Jay fed him the Demerol and then the juice like a mother bird feeding her young. The whole thing was terrifying and wrong, but he had to do something. He had to help. He didn't have time to let it frighten him. "Can you get up?" Jay asked. Simon shrugged. "Is that a yes? 'Cause I think, I think you should lie down. In a bed. So you can sleep, and, and if you have to puke you can, um, I'll put the trash can right there so you don't have to get up or anything." Simon just shrugged again. Jay put the glass and the prescription bottle on the coffee table, then slung Simon's arm around his neck and helped Simon up. "Fuck," Simon groaned. "Fucking hurts." But he stood up, wobbling only slightly as Jay halfcarried him into the bedroom and deposited him on the bed. "The Demerol's gonna kick in soon. Gimme your foot, you don't wanna sleep in your boots. Right?" He didn't bother to look up as he pulled Simon's boots and socks off and lifted and swung Simon's legs so he could lie down. "Lie on your side, okay?" "Hurts too much. Won't puke." "Are you sure? I don't want you to, to choke - " Now that was absolutely horrifying, the thought that Simon might choke to death in his sleep. Jay took a deep breath and tried not to think about it. "Won't choke. Just said. Just... wanna sleep, Jay. So fucking tired." He closed his eyes. "Okay," Jay said. "Okay, okay. If, if the Demerol wears off or something, will you wake me up? And I'll get you another one. Okay? Simon? Promise you'll wake me up?" "Right. Yeah. Promise." Jay pulled off his pants so he was just wearing his T-shirt and boxers, and then he very carefully climbed onto the bed and lay down next to Simon, on his side, staring at the battered and bruised, blond boy who always took care of him. What had happened? "Simon..."

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"Shh. Shh. Take good care of me, you do." Simon managed to stroke Jay's cheek with the back of his hand. The gauze dragged on Jay's skin. "I'll hurt you, I end up in emergency." "But - " "Won't go. Die first. Nearly did." "Simon, please, you'll be okay, I'll take care of you like, like you always take care of me. Okay? I promise. Does it still hurt? Can you sleep a little?" "Bit better, yeah." His hand stopped moving and just rested on Jay's cheek. Jay let it lie there. Jay gently rubbed Simon's shoulder to remind Simon that he was there, and to reassure himself that Simon was still alive. Simon slept the sleep of the exhausted and drugged, and Jay watched his chest rise and fall and listened to his breathing and was too worried to do anything besides doze. But Jay didn't care - he'd stay up for a week straight if he had to, to make sure Simon was okay. *** As soon as his bruises started to fade and the swelling in his eye went down and his cuts scabbed over and he could walk farther than the length of the apartment without wheezing in pain, Simon went out, and stayed gone for three days. Jay was beside himself with anger and worry and nerves, and most of all he was scared. What if Simon had collapsed somewhere? What if whoever had hurt Simon came back? What if a john or someone else beat Simon up, and he was too weak to fight back? What if he'd just taken off and left Jay for good? Jay wanted to wait in the apartment so he'd be there when Simon came home, but he hated being there alone. But he also didn't know where to look. There was a clinic the boys went to, because it was free and the docs didn't ask questions, but they hadn't seen Simon in months. Jay only had experience with the ER Simon had taken him to when he'd cut his forehead, and it took him most of a day to find it, but they hadn't seen Simon either. He went to the pharmacy where Simon's friend Gail worked, but she didn't know where Simon was. Other rent boys and hookers either didn't know or wouldn't say, and Jay didn't dare mention it to any of the johns. Simon's disappearance coincided with an appointment with Father John, so Jay took Michael. (Ever since the boy had attacked Jay, Simon referred to him as "that bitch Michael," but he'd apologized and turned out to be a nicer guy than early impressions would lead you to believe.) Michael and Jay didn't have nearly the chemistry that Simon and Jay had, but the good father didn't seem to mind. It felt beyond wrong to Jay, though, and he couldn't even look at Michael afterwards, afraid Michael might think he could replace Simon, and that somehow it would keep Simon from coming back.

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And then Simon did come back. He let himself in as if he'd never been gone; he was wearing the same clothes he'd left in, which looked like he'd slept in them if he'd slept at all. He needed a shave and a shower - he smelled stale, he smelled like sex with strangers. Jay stood in the middle of the room, astonished, unable to form a coherent thought, much less a coherent sentence, and Simon just walked right past him and sprawled out on the couch. Jay gaped. Simon yawned, stretched, said, "What." "Where..." Jay began, and then exploded - "Three fucking days! I thought you were dead! What the hell were you thinking? I had fucking... Michael looking for you, I, I spent all day on the bus trying to find the hospital, I couldn't sleep..." Simon blinked, apparently unconcerned. Jay realized he'd lost his temper, had yelled just like his father, and that freaked him out, and his tone softened. "I was so fucking scared, Simon, I thought something happened - " "It did." Simon's voice was even, and he sounded tired. "Bunch of times." He smirked. Jay didn't know what to say, but it hurt, so casually admitted. It hurt that Simon could care so little that it hurt. "Why do you stay here?" Simon asked curiously. "Why don't you leave? I'm not so nice to you. I can be a right bastard, me. What is it?" "I. Um." Jay swallowed, rubbed his eyes. "I... I love you." He expected Simon to laugh, because Simon usually did. He didn't expect Simon to jump off the couch and grab him. Simon was obviously healed, because Simon's grip was strong, fingers digging into Jay's arms hard enough to bruise. "You don't love me," Simon hissed. Jay opened his mouth to defend himself, but Simon barreled on. "You don't know me, don't know what I can do, don't know what I've done. You can't guess where I was yesterday, can you?" "Tell me," Jay said, "I wanna know." "Bullshit. Reckon I know, Jay, why you waited for me, why you're still here." Simon had propelled him backwards across the room, stopping only when they bumped into the TV. The top edge dug into Jay's back. "'Cause I'm so good to you," Simon answered himself sarcastically, and kissed Jay brutally, crushing Jay's lips and forcing his mouth open. Jay knew this wasn't right - not the way he wanted to be kissed, not with such possessive force so devoid of any kind of passion - but he couldn't help himself, and his mouth opened eagerly to Simon's probing tongue as he kissed back. Three days is too long, his body whispered, too long to go without this. Jay had hoped Simon's homecoming would be tender, more affectionate, but this was part of the Simon he knew, this ferocity. It was one of Simon's games.

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And then Simon pulled away and Jay thought he saw something hard and something desperate in the blue eyes, and wondered if it really was a game after all. "Know your secret, I do," Simon said. "I'll hurt you, Jay, and you want me to. The only thing you know." His hands closed on Jay's shoulders and he spun Jay around, away from the TV and face first against the wall. "Think you want it?" Simon hissed in his ear, pushing Jay against the plaster to hold him still. It felt like play but at the same time very serious indeed, and Jay didn't know how to react. Should he struggle? Did Simon want him to? "Think it's hard?" Simon went on. "Your life? You're young, yeah? Listen - once there was a boy left home at fifteen and went down to London to make something of himself. Couple years later he's your age, can't count the blokes he's gone down on in side alleys and laneways and grotty bedsits and public toilets. And couple years after that? Living so far from that place, an ocean and a bloody country in between, he meets this kid, soft boy he is, innocent, takes the pain. Stays with me 'cause I hurt him, 'cause it's all he knows, 'cause he confuses it for love." "No," Jay whispered. It wasn't true, that wasn't why he stayed. It wasn't all he knew. "It's not...You taught me - Simon - you were - are - " "You don't get it, do you." The pressure on Jay's shoulders eased, to be replaced by a different pressure in the middle of his back. Simon was holding him one-handed. Jay managed to turn enough to see Simon undoing his belt buckle, his jeans, pushing them down to his knees. Simon rubbed determinedly against Jay and Jay could feel Simon's hardening cock against his thigh, warming the skin through his gray cotton pants. Simon nudged Jay's legs open and Jay willingly spread them, understanding. He knew where this was going. Then Simon reached between his legs, grabbed his cock, and squeezed. Hard. Jay yelped. "Now you're gettin' it," Simon murmured. The hand released its grip long enough to undo Jay's pants and pull them down, followed by Jay's boxers. Another good squeeze and the hand was gone. Jay held his breath. Simon panted behind him and Jay could hear Simon loudly suck on his fingers. "I can break you, Jay," Simon rasped. "Inside, I can. Watch me." Jay yelped again, surprised, as Simon pushed two fingers inside him. They probed briefly, withdrew, and then Simon rammed inside so hard and so fast that for a moment Jay couldn't breathe. "I know rough," Simon said in his ear, breath hot and damp on Jay's skin. "But this? This ain't rough."

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But oh, God, it was. Simon thrust inside Jay's ass like Simon was trying to push Jay through the wall into the next apartment. Jay hadn't been ready, and it hurt, not just Simon inside, but the plaster against his cock and the front of his thighs, rubbing and scraping as Simon pounded into him. Simon had stopped talking. Simon kept one hand on Jay's back, holding him still - Jay had no idea where the other hand was - and gasped and grunted in Jay's ear as they fucked like anonymous strangers, with no concern except for Simon's own pleasure, if this could even be called pleasure. Jay wanted to scream, to cry, anything, but Simon thrust in and out of him so hard he could barely catch his breath. He closed his eyes, bit his lip (so he wouldn't bite his tongue), pressed his hands flat against the wall, tried to push himself away from it, and felt tears sliding down his cheeks. Simon had hurt him before. He had. He'd made Jay scream, had bruised him and bound him and bitten him. But Simon had also taken him dazed and bleeding to the hospital, had taught him to be careful, had stolen a conspicuously large book for him because he'd admired it. And Simon had left him, yes, had disappeared without a word, but Simon always came back. Came back to him. Jay was getting hard in spite of himself. His cock hurt and his balls ached, but Simon was pounding him into the wall too fast and too ferociously for him to do anything besides whimper. Hot tears trickled down his neck, tickling him where they dried. Simon bit hard into his shoulder, breaking the skin through his shirt and drawing a pained yelp, stifling a cry as Simon came explosively in Jay's ass. "Leave, Jay," Simon rasped in his ear. "Leave here, leave me. Before." Jay just shook his head. He wouldn't. He couldn't. Didn't Simon know by now? Jay needed Simon too much. Then there was silence, and into that silence Jay said the one thing that seemed the most important. "You came back. To me." Simon snorted what might have been a laugh, then pulled out, pushed off. Jay could hear him hike up his jeans, buckle his belt, walk away. Jay heard water run in the bathtub, heard the bathroom door squeak closed and cut the sound off. Now Jay could only hear his own ragged breathing, harsh, gasping half-sobs that didn't sound like him. He leaned against the wall, palms flat, forehead pressed to the plaster, eyes closed, and tried not to cry. Had he done something? Not done something? Why would Simon hurt him like that? Why tell him to leave?

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It wasn't right. Something had to have happened to make Simon behave like that. Simon'd never - Jay sniffled, swallowed, pushed himself away from the wall and wiped his nose, his eyes. He could make it better, or at least he could try. Simon had taken care of him for so long, maybe Jay hadn't been grateful enough. But if Simon really wanted him to leave he would - he'd go to San Francisco alone - but he wanted to know why. His shoulder throbbed where Simon had bitten him. He stroked his cock gently, trying to soothe the skin, ease the raw, scraped pain, then pulled up his boxers and his pants and walked carefully toward the bathroom, feeling ripped up somewhere deep inside. There was no sound from the other side of the door, so he knocked. "What," Simon said wearily through the door. "Can I, can I come in?" Jay asked tentatively. "You're still here." "Yeah. I live here." Jay tried for levity, probably completely misplaced, and failed. "Can't keep you out, can I." "Is that a yes?" "Yeah. Sure." Simon didn't sound very enthusiastic, but he hadn't told Jay to fuck off either, so Jay pushed the door open and went in. There was a fading bruise under Simon's ribcage and his nipple was misshapen and scarred, but his body otherwise looked like it always had - whole and healthy, the muscles taut and defined, skin smooth and tanned. He'd dunked his head, slicked his hair back. It got darker when it was wet. Jay just now realized Simon had changed the ring in his eyebrow for a spike and wondered if he'd done it for safety's sake, to keep it from being ripped out like the nipple ring. "Yeah?" Simon said. "What is it you want?" Jay gingerly sat on the toilet seat. Standing there looking down at Simon's naked body was distracting. "Why do you want me to leave?" "Doesn't matter, does it? You won't go." "But why... why would I? You don't, you don't want me around? You don't wanna go to San Francisco with me? You said - " "I know what I said. I don't wanna talk about it."

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"If you really want me to leave - if, if that's what'll make you happy - I will. Really. Take my stuff..." Simon just shrugged, didn't answer. They sat for a while in silence, Jay on the toilet seat looking at his hands, Simon in the bathtub, feet by the drain. The broken showerhead dripped sporadically. Simon leaned, head against the wall. Jay looked up. "Where'd you go?" he asked. "When you left? Where were you for three days?"

"Said you didn't wanna know."

"Well, yeah, but I do."

"Don't wanna talk about it."

"Are you gonna, um, leave again? I hate it when, when you do that. It scares me." Simon

shrugged again. "But you always come back, so... I don't know. Maybe I'm just being

paranoid."

"Jay," Simon said tiredly, "I want to have my bath, have a beer, and go to bed. I don't want to

talk about where I've been, or why. Okay?"

"Okay. You want me to leave?"

"Don't care at this point. Stay if you want." It didn't sound like an invitation, but it was

something. Jay stood up, shucked off his clothes, motioned for Simon to scoot forward in the

tub.

"What?" Simon asked. "Wanna join me?" He just sounded curious. It wasn't a come-on.

"Yeah," Jay said. "I'll give you a back rub. You look kinda tense." He wanted to change the

mood, dissipate some of the tension, and if there was one thing Jay could learn from Simon besides self-preservation, it was the fine art of misdirection. Jay was usually too honest and straightforward, but every so often he could do this. Simon inched forward in the tub and Jay climbed in behind him, sinking into the lukewarm water and stretching those long legs down either side. The bathtub was too short for him and his bony knees broke the surface of the water. Simon's head dropped forward as Jay started to knead tight shoulder muscles. He'd been right, Simon was tense. "I'm sorry," Jay said softly.

"What for?" Simon mumbled into his chest.

"I must've done something. To chase you away. You were pissed at me."

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"That what you think?" Simon chuckled. "Can see how you might've got that impression, yeah." "You weren't? So why'd you... why - " Simon's shoulders lifted in a brief shrug and Jay stopped his massage. "Said I didn't wanna talk about it, didn't I?" Simon raised his head, leaned back against Jay. "I hurt you, yeah? And you stay. No one stays. I don't. But you do. Can't get attached - I ever tell you that?" "Maybe. Probably." Jay wrapped his arms around Simon's chest, holding close. This was more like it, more what he'd expected when Simon came back. Comfort. Quiet. Calm. And later, good sex. His cock twitched, thinking about it. Simon could fuck him standing up, that was okay, just not like before. Not in anger. "You never listen," Simon said. "You're too nice, too... kind. Someday it's gonna come back and bite you." "You can bite me." That brought another chuckle. Jay's hand dropped, long fingers closing around Simon's cock. Simon pried them off and put Jay's hand on his knee. "Not now. Christ, I said no." He laughed in disbelief, a tired, half-hearted laugh. Jay smiled at the sound, not knowing what to think. That hardly ever happened, that Simon said no. Where had he been? What had he done while he was gone? "I'm still here," Jay whispered, "because I wanna be. I don't have anywhere else to go." "That bitch Michael, he'll take you." "I guess." Jay lifted his hand, put his arm around Simon again, and held on in silence. Sometimes words were pointless, and while Jay wasn't used to being the strong, protective one, and while Simon's vulnerability frightened him - the image of Simon's face, bruised and bleeding, swam up in his mind, Simon weakly protesting as Jay cleaned up, bandaged Simon, put him to bed - Jay was realizing that if the occasion called for it, he could take care of someone, he could make it better. Another useful lesson Simon had taught him, if unknowingly. And now Simon was asleep, snoring softly with his head on Jay's shoulder, his body so relaxed that only Jay's arms around him kept him from sliding down into the bath water. Jay bent, rubbed a cheek against Simon's wet hair. How could he leave now? If he let go, Simon would drown. After a while Jay realized his butt was falling asleep. He had no idea how long they'd been in the bathtub, but if his butt was going numb it had to have been a long time. The bite on his shoulder throbbed, but it was also starting to itch, which he figured was a good thing,

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because that meant it was healing. But he couldn't feel the enamel under his ass, and that was a bad thing. And Simon was still comatose. "Simon," Jay said, "wake up, my butt's asleep. You can't sleep in the bathtub. Come on, we'll go lie down on the bed, okay?" He shook Simon gently, then a little harder. "Come on, please? I can't feel my ass, and I'm all pruney, and the water's cold. I think your bath's about finished." Shake, shake. No response. Jay tried to wriggle out from behind Simon, but he couldn't push the other man forward far enough. A sleeping Simon was a dead-weight Simon, and Jay just wasn't that strong. "Simon, please, wake up, you're gonna get, um, a stiff neck..." Jostle, jostle. Simon mumbled something, shifted between Jay's legs. "Okay, that's it, you're, you're almost up, come on." "Wha...?" Simon said, coming around. "Water's cold." "You fell asleep." "Huh. I did." Simon grabbed the side of the tub, levered up and out, wrapping a towel around his waist. Jay struggled out after him. They needed a bigger bathtub. He squatted by the side of the tub to let the water out and was momentarily startled by Simon's fingers lightly brushing his shoulder, skimming the bite marks. "I really bit into you," Simon said, something like wonder in his voice. "Yeah." "Can count the tooth marks. I was... I was gone, Jay, didn't know what I was doing." "No, you did." Jay stood, pulled the other towel off the back of the door and slung it around himself. "You meant it." Simon shrugged, rubbed his eyes. "Maybe. Not that hard." He picked up his clothes and took them into the bedroom, and Jay did the same. "Should I, um, should I go?" Jay asked, when he was dressed again. Simon had only pulled on a pair of boxers and was now lying on his back on the bed. "You know, do you, do you still want me to, to leave?" "No." Simon said it so quietly Jay almost couldn't hear. "Don't... Don't go." Simon closed his eyes, breathed in and out, opened them again and looked over at Jay. "Stay, yeah? For now." It was probably all Jay was going to get, and he could accept it. He sat on the edge of the bed, toed off his shoes, and lay down next to Simon, who was now staring at the ceiling.

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"Where did you go?" Jay asked. Simon just shook his head. Won't tell you. Jay would never know. "I should shut up about that, huh?" Simon shrugged. "I'm glad you came back. Even though - " "Jay."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up." Simon rolled gingerly onto his side so he and Jay were face-to-face. "Yeah, I

came back. Had to."

"Had to...?"

"My stuff's here." The ghost of a smile crossed Simon's face. If he was cracking jokes, Jay

figured, he was okay. "You're here. You're always here." This time he said it with less sarcasm, less bitterness, and more of what Jay took for genuine affection. "Not used to that." "But it's okay, right? You said you didn't - "

"I don't. Not now. Not yet. I think... I think I can be... good. I was angry, okay? Before. I'm

waiting for it to go to hell."

"It doesn't have to."

"It always does. Not much good in this world, not that's permanent. I'll try, yeah? 'Bout all I

can do is try."

Jay wasn't exactly sure what Simon meant, what he was going to try, or how. But Jay didn't

want to ask. It didn't matter.

"I don't care. You're here, okay? That's, that's all I want. That's all I care about."

Simon looked like he wanted to say something else, so to stop him Jay leaned forward and

kissed him. Not wanting to talk anymore, Jay didn't think there was anything else to say. Jay

reached around, ran his fingers up into Simon's hair, pulled Simon's face closer.

"Can't say I'll never go," Simon said finally, when they stopped to breathe. "But when I leave

I'll take you with. Yeah?"

"Then you're not leaving," Jay said. "You're just... moving."

Simon stared at him for a minute, and then laughed, a genuine laugh, and Jay threw arms and

legs around him, kissed him and stroked him and touched him everywhere Jay's hands could

reach, and he put his mouth on Simon and made Simon gasp, put his tongue inside and got a

yell, showed Simon the only way he knew that everything would be fine.

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***

But there were still things that bothered him, that kept bothering him even as Simon healed

up and went back to work and things got more or less back to normal.

"Simon?" he said.

"Yeah?" Simon had his head in the fridge.

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"That. This." Jay ran a finger down one of the faint scars on Simon's back, more noticeable

now that he knew they were there. Simon backed out of the fridge, closed the door, and

leaned against it. Jay thought he looked surprised. "Did, did you think I didn't know? Or I

wouldn't figure it out? I'm not stupid."

"Didn't say you were. You finish the cranapple?"

Jay made a face, frustrated. Partly it was the way Simon was standing, leaning casually

against the fridge, arms crossed, wearing nothing but the yellow towel. They'd celebrated the

long-overdue fixing of the shower by using it together - which of course meant fucking under

the spray - and now they were relaxed and clean and didn't have to be anywhere and there

was something Jay wanted to ask.

"That a no?" Simon asked off-handedly. Jay nodded. Simon shrugged and went back into the

other room and sprawled on the couch. He was doing that on purpose, being distracting.

"Why... what does it feel like?" Jay followed, sat at the other end of the couch.

"Hurts. Then it doesn't." Another shrug. "You wanna be flogged now?"

"No, I just, I wanna know what it's like. Why you have to leave and not, not tell me."

"What would you say, Jay? 'Don't go?' 'Let me do it?' You don't hit hard enough."

"But, but why do you wanna be hit?" Jay made another face. He didn't think he was getting

his point across at all, and he couldn't come right out and ask what he really wanted to ask. "You really wanna know? Seriously?" Jay nodded. Simon seemed to think about it. "Okay, it's like... giving everything up. No control, no... body. You come out of yourself. Like flying. There's nothing but feeling, you feel the burn and the sting and you really wanna come but you can't yet. Everything else just kinda... goes away. It's a - what are they called? -

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endorphin rush. Can't describe it with words." He looked speculatively at Jay. "Sure you

don't want it?"

"Oh, Jesus, no. I don't wanna get off that way. But I wanna know what you know. You

know?" Simon grinned. Jay tried to make himself make sense. "You go to these places, dark

places, and, and I wanna go with you."

"You'll take the pain..." Simon murmured.

"I, I guess. But I'm not, I'm not a rabbit, Simon, I'm not some scared kid." Simon only

grinned wider. "I'm not."

"If you say." Simon slouched a little on the couch, legs falling open, towel threatening to fall

off. Jay tried not to stare.

"Would you take me?" he asked. "The next time you go? It's like it's this part of your life I

don't know. I wanna... share it." Now Simon stared at him in something approaching

disbelief, and then laughed. "What?"

"Share a part of my life!" Simon cackled. "You sound like a girl!"

"Yeah, that was cheesy. Okay. But... I think, if, if I can give you that, whatever you have to

go to the Dungeon for" - he caught Simon's startled look - "yeah, I know where you go, I said

I wasn't stupid."

Simon adjusted the towel. "Go on."

"You have to go to someone else, right?" Simon nodded at him. "'Cause it's something I can't

do. But if I could? If I did all that to you, or, or let you do it to me? You wouldn't leave.

You'd stay."

"That what you think?" Simon asked softly. Jay nodded. "Huh. Now what exactly are we

talking about here?" Jay made a fist and held it up between them.

"That. This. Do it to me."

Simon boggled. He opened his mouth, presumably to say something, then closed it, then

opened it again.

"You what?" he said, stunned.

"What I said."

"Fisting?" Simon sat up, stared at Jay. "You know what you're asking? You know what that

means?"

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"Means I trust you." Simon did the mouth-opening-and-closing thing again. Jay got the distinct impression no one had ever said that to him before, at least not in this particular context. But it was true, Jay did trust Simon. With his body, with his life. "Bloody extreme way to prove it, you ask me." "You don't, you don't want to? Put your hand inside me? Touch me there? Know that, that I trust you enough to do it? That I want you to?" "You want a lot of things, Jay. You want me, yeah? But this, this is... Dunno what this is." He sounded almost suspicious. "Tell me why. Why the fist, I mean." Why indeed? Jay had to think about that, form his thoughts into some string of words that would make sense and that Simon wouldn't laugh at him for. But what could he say that he hadn’t already said? Simon wouldn’t believe that he could go as far as Simon had, that he could perform the extreme and kinky acts Simon liked. This was the only way Jay could think of that would prove to Simon exactly how much Jay loved and trusted him. It would get a laugh for certain if he explained it that way, but it was true. Jay trusted everyone right off, and was pretty trustworthy himself, but Simon meant more to him than anyone and he wasn't always sure Simon knew that, or believed it. Jay wouldn't flog; he wasn't even a good paddler. If it involved pain, even if Simon liked it, it turned his stomach. And this could really hurt, but at the same time it was a progression Jay could understand. You went from one finger to two, to three, to four, to the whole hand. He wasn't sure how someone's hand would fit, but he was ready to try. But he'd only submit to it if Simon would do it to him. It was as much for Simon as it was for him. "Could hurt you," Simon murmured. "You haven't yet." Which was kind of a lie, but the worst hurt would be abandonment, and Simon wouldn't do that. He'd said as much. Can't say I'll never go. But when I leave I'll take you with. "I mean it, Jay. Done wrong? It’s bad." "But done right, it’s good. I don't wanna have to tell you why. I just, I just want you to want it, too." Simon looked away, at the wall opposite the couch, and was quiet so long Jay thought he'd forgotten the question.

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"Did it once," Simon said finally, his voice soft, remembering. "Had it done, more like. Girl I loved. She had big hands, knew what she was doing. And it was..." He shook his head, closed his eyes, smiled faintly. "I yelled myself hoarse, felt like I came for days." His eyes opened and he looked at Jay again. "Could I do that for you? Maybe. Reckon I could make you scream. But it's like an addiction for some, it's like... once you've done the hard shit, you want it more, you want it harder. And... Right." His mouth set. "I don't wanna find Chet ripping the skin off your back 'cause you found a taste for blood." "But it's different, it's not like I want you to flog me. I don't like that shit, you know that. It makes me puke, thinking about getting off on getting hurt. I don't get what you're saying. I thought you wanted to, to train me to like it. I mean, you wanna paddle me and tie me up and, and you bite me, and - " Simon leaned forward and grabbed Jay's chin and held his head steady, pale blue eyes boring into gray. "Jay, baby, listen to me. You're a good kid, yeah? You do what I ask. You'd come to the Dungeon with me. But that doesn't mean I want you to. There's reasons I never told you." "What reasons? Why don't - you said you liked it - " "I did. Oh, Christ, it was incredible. And I like a good flog, but I'm a slut, and twisted. You? You're too... you're innocent." Jay made a face. He wasn't innocent, not about sex. Not about the weird kinks that turned people on. Good lord, look what he did for money. Look who he lived with. "No, wrong word. There's a part of you that's untouched, right? Something inside that's still whole. Not me. You don't wanna be me, luv. You don't wanna start down that path." "I think you turned out okay. You take care of me." Simon laughed softly. "I do, don't I. Can't help myself." His grip tightened on Jay's chin, and he leaned in close. His voice dropped. "Wanna know what I did in Thailand?" Jay nodded. "Can't tell you. Don't remember. Four months sweating it out in that city, and some of it's a haze and some of it's just blank. Half that time's gone. Just... gone." He snapped the fingers of his free hand. "Like that. Holes in my memory. Wish what I do remember was gone, too. Don't want that to happen to you." "But, but I'm not going to Thailand." "Too right you're not." "Simon, I want this. There's all this stuff you wanna do to me that I won't do. But this is just as extreme, and I want it. Do you get that? I want it." He couldn't make it any clearer. Simon nodded.

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"I get that, yeah." He let go of Jay's chin, sat back on the couch, adjusted the towel around his waist. "You want me so far inside, farther than anyone. Touching parts of you I shouldn't be able to touch. Wanna prove your trust. Your love." "Yeah. I wanna fly. I know you do, too." There was more. "You're always telling me I'm so beautiful when I come. Think about how I'd look with your hand inside me, coming and coming and knowing it's because of you. Michael says people pass out, it's so good. And Simon, you're so, you're so hot when you fuck me, I mean your face, and, and your throat, and your eyes are, like, so blue, and I get hard thinking about it..." Jay tried not to look away, expecting any minute that Simon would laugh, but the other man's eyes were dark and intense, and Jay thought he'd finally said the right thing. "I wanna see that look," he went on, "right before you make me come? You're so determined, and, and so focused, and the things you say, and, and I want you so bad, all the time, in all kinds of ways, and I can't, I can't get enough, you're never inside far enough, or, or long enough... You know what it's like? To want someone that bad?" "Reckon so," Simon murmured, and before Jay could move Simon was on top of him, holding his head steady, kissing him hard, kissing him breathless. "Right," Simon said, when they finally had to pull apart. "You want it? Really want it?" Jay nodded, afraid to speak. "You got it. Tell me when." "Now," Jay whispered. "Now." "On the sofa?" Simon grinned. "No, no, in the bedroom, on the bed. That's where all the lube is anyway. Well, and there's the bottle under the couch." "And one in the pantry." "That's empty." "Oh?" "Yeah." He tried to compose his face into something serious. "Are you, are you sure? You really wanna do it? To me? Now?" "You trust me?" "With everything." "Good. Won't do it otherwise. It's about trust, luv, and power. You have to know what you're asking me." "I do know. I have the trust, you have the power." Jay grinned. Simon looked serious again.

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"Promise me one thing." Jay nodded, puzzled. "Promise you won't go chasing it. Won't look for things that'll break you inside. Promise you won't be me." "Okay. I promise." Jay leaned forward, kissed him again. It started out a gentle kiss, but Simon put both arms around Jay, pulling him closer, and then one hand dropped to their laps, brushing Jay's stiffening cock, and Jay moaned, and the kiss grew deeper, needier, as they strained against each other. "A quickie before the main event?" Simon asked, laughing, and Jay laughed, too, and nodded. "Got me all randy, you did, with your talk about fucking. Reach under the sofa?" Simon slid off so Jay could move. Jay wrinkled his nose in concentration as he leaned over and tried to find the bottle of lube that had rolled under the couch a couple days ago. They'd ended up fucking on the floor and someone had kicked it there. His hand scrabbled around, finally finding it and pulling it out. He almost fell sideways off the couch, but Simon grabbed his other arm and hauled him to safety. "Right," Simon said again, "off with these." He tugged at Jay's pants, which also involved some not-so-accidental tugging of Jay's cock. "Want you to ride me, luv, wanna see your face above mine, feel you around me. So hot, so tight... Get you ready." Simon was murmuring into Jay's neck now, and Jay sighed, and gasped sharply as Simon stroked his cock. Simon let the towel fall open. He shifted back a little on the couch, turning so he faced out, legs spread, and Jay bent down, licked the head of that stiff, red cock, played a little with the steel ring, stroked the hot balls and the inside of Simon's thigh. Simon's hand dug in his hair, and somewhere above him Simon rasped "Not... not yet... Christ, Jay, oh, Christ..." And Jay took that as his cue and popped the cap on the lube and slicked Simon good and wet with it, ran one liquidy finger around his own entrance, then sat up and shifted over, straddling Simon on the couch, and pulled Simon into him. Simon's fingers dug into his ass as they rocked together. They panted and gasped and moaned and Jay stroked his cock along with the rhythm of Simon's hips under him and he loved this, loved feeling Simon inside him, loved the way that ring with the little ball pressed and teased, loved the slide and catch, the noises Simon made and the cloudy heavy-lidded eyes and the flush of Simon’s cheeks and Jay was so hot and so hard and it was enough but not quite, it was never long enough or far enough and Jay always felt as if he could take more, because it was Simon and he could never have enough Simon in him, and then he was squeezing and shaking and Simon was bucking against him and they'd lost their rhythm and were both crying out and he was coming in his hand and Simon was coming in him and it was perfect. "So beautiful, baby," Simon murmured into Jay's shoulder. "So beautiful, you are."

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"It'll be even better than that?" Jay asked. Simon smiled lazily. "Oh, yeah. Even better." Simon slapped Jay's ass. "Now off me, and go shower. Want you clean outside and in." A nervous kiss and Jay climbed off and stumbled into the bathroom to clean himself off everywhere he could reach. *** While Jay was in the shower Simon wiped himself off with a dry corner of the yellow towel, went into the kitchen to wash his hands and forearms, then headed back to the bedroom to find the lube and put on some boxers. He figured he'd lose them soon enough, but it would probably be better if he started out with them on. Might make Jay less nervous, anyway. There were two bottles of lube, one almost empty and one almost full. He fetched the other bottle, the one Jay had rescued from under the couch, just in case. Good. All prepared. It occurred to Simon while he was trying to figure out how full the bottles were that this was more exciting to him than he would have thought. He was a little concerned about leading Jay down the slippery slope, having been suddenly faced with the fact that Jay might actually want to slide, and while the thought of Jay getting whipped at the Dungeon wearing a ball gag and harness was a little scary, it was also pretty damn arousing. And then Jay came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist and damp hair in his face, looking young and nervous and determined and so fuckable it hurt, and Simon mentally threw up both hands and gave in. Some things you just couldn't argue with. "Ready?" he asked. Jay nodded. "Sure?" Jay nodded again. "Okay then. Lose the towel." He gestured, grinning, and Jay grinned back and let the towel fall to the floor. Simon's grin widened and he beckoned with a finger. "C'mere." Jay came. Simon stroked Jay's cheek, cupped his chin, and kissed him hard, tongue forcing its way between lips and teeth. Jay ran his fingers into Simon's hair and kissed back. Simon would swear he heard a whimper, and look at that, Jay's cock was already stiffening against his thigh. Didn't take much, did it? "That the appetizer?" Jay asked, when they finally broke apart. "Before dinner?" "The pre-supper cocktail," Simon said. "Now on the bed with you." Jay obediently hopped on the bed and stretched out, legs spread. Simon took a minute to admire the long body, the soft, smooth skin, the trail of fine light brown hairs leading to the slowly filling cock. Jay was so skinny you could count ribs, could probably cut yourself on those jutting hipbones, but Jay was grinning and wiggling a little, like he knew Simon was admiring him, and Simon smiled. Christ, but the boy was hungry for it.

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"Need a word?" Simon asked. "No." "Trust me?" "Too right I do," Jay said in a passable imitation of Simon's accent. "Well? What're you waiting for?" His voice trembled just a little. He was still nervous. Simon would have to calm him down. "Eager little bugger, aren't you. Gotta take it slow. Relax, yeah? Just relax." Simon stroked the inside of Jay's thigh, bent forward and ran his tongue up Jay's belly from the nest of curly hairs at his groin. He could feel Jay's cock against his throat and kept licking, climbing up Jay's body after his hungry tongue. Jay grabbed his head, pulled him along. By the time he made it to Jay's mouth, Jay's legs were wrapped around his hips and Jay was already pushing up against him. Simon smiled against that mouth, murmured "Said you had to relax," and kissed Jay long and slow, stroking Jay's face with one hand and reaching between them to tweak a nipple with the other. Jay squeaked, then moaned. "Oh, yeah," Simon murmured. "Like that. Gonna make you feel like you've never felt, gonna make you fly." "Okay, okay, Jesus, please," Jay babbled, "just, just get on with it, or, or, or I'm gonna, I'm gonna... I'm - " "Trust me. I know what I'm doing." He didn't, exactly, but he knew enough. He knew enough not to hurt Jay, knew enough to make him scream. "I trust you. I, I wanna watch..." "Of course. Shh." One last touch, a finger on Jay's lips, and Simon slid back down to the end of the bed, settled himself, took a moment. Jay watched him, eyes storm-dark and hot, chest heaving, teeth chewing his bottom lip. This was right. It was going to be perfect. Simon made a big show of licking one finger, slowly sliding it in and out of his pursed lips, grinning as Jay panted and wriggled. He spread Jay's thighs, ran that spit-slick finger around and between the hot cock and the balls, traveling down that sensitive bit of skin behind, tracing the tense asshole. Jay moaned. Simon bent his head again and licked a thigh. Another moan, and it was time, and Simon slid his finger in. This Jay knew, the feel of Simon's finger inside him, probing and stroking and pressing. He knew the feel of Simon's hand on his skin, feather touches that made him nuts. He knew this. He loved this. He wanted this.

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He'd been nervous in the shower, not completely knowing what he was getting into but having a pretty good idea. But he knew Simon wouldn't hurt him. Not this way. Simon liked a little blood with his pain, liked to bite Jay's lip or his shoulder, once the inside of his thigh (but that was an accident). There'd be no biting. Jay couldn't explain how he knew, but he knew Simon would be gentle. Well, as gentle as was possible, anyway. Now Jay moaned and rode the finger inside him, and he was relaxing. He was hard and getting harder, but he was definitely relaxing. This wasn't so bad. This was actually pretty good. Simon listened to the sounds coming from Jay's mouth and watched the boy's face and prick and the muscled stomach, and gauged how far along Jay was. Time for some lube and another finger. "Good, yeah?" he asked. Jay nodded. "Ready for the next one?" Another nod. "Good boy. So good." He flipped the cap on the nearly empty lube one-handed, pulled out his finger making Jay whimper, and squirted. "Two," he said. "Two is for..." "Tease," Jay rasped. Simon laughed, and slid two fingers in. Jay was moving now, slow rolling of his hips, pressing down and back on Simon's hand as Simon's fingers stroked him from the inside. And oh, was the boy hot, head back on the pillows, breath coming short, cock fully erect and curving up toward the flat stomach. Wanted it so much, needed it... Simon shifted position slightly, resisting the urge to reach down with his free hand and stroke himself. He had to concentrate. This was the easy part, but it was going to get tricky. Jay tried to breathe, really tried, but it was so hard with Simon's fingers inside him, Simon's free hand still resting on his thigh, and now his own hand reached down, wrapped around his cock, pumped slowly. Oh, God. Oh, God. He was going to come, already so hard and so hot and so ready... "Simon," he gasped, "Simon, I'm already, I'm ready, gonna come - " Simon's hand suddenly clamped down over his, cutting him off. "Not yet, Jay," Simon said gently. "Gotta wait. Can you hold it?" "I think... I, I... yeah, I can, but, but don't... Don't move your hand..." "Right. I'll stay here. Want three?" Three? Jesus Christ, three fingers inside him and hands on his cock and Simon's voice and he'd have to lift his head and look, and he'd come. He knew it.

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In the silence those fingers stroked across his sweet spot and he sucked in a breath and groaned, a full-on "Do that again and I'll come" groan. His whole body twitched. He was so hot. And he wanted it. All of it. Everything. "Yeah," he panted, "three. Go... go on, do it..." And then there were three. Simon dribbled a little more lube on his fingers and on Jay, his hand tight on Jay's cock, his mouth involuntarily closing in on the glistening red head. His tongue flicked out, caught some bitter drops, and he was rewarded with another of those groans. Oh, Christ, they were both so close... "Jay," he said, "look up. Wanna see you. You wanted to watch, yeah?" Jay lifted his head and Simon's breath caught, and he nearly lost it. That face, the look he loved, that dazed, glazed, blissed-out look, Jay's lower lip swollen from his teeth in it, nostrils flaring. Jay was flushed, panting. Jay raised the other hand, reached out, brushed Simon's mouth, his lips, a trace of pre-come still on them. "Simon," Jay whispered. "Right here." "Simon..." "Talk to me, baby. Tell me what you want. Want four?" "Oh, oh, fuck... Yeah, yeah, all of you... All... everything..." "Just hold a minute, yeah? Just relax." Simon held his fingers still, waiting, teasing. Jay's head fell back, one hand trapped under Simon's clenched around his cock, the other hand dropped, fingers digging into thigh muscles, and Jay started moving again, down on Simon's hand and up into their entwined fingers, fucking himself in almost circular motions, moans nearly breathless now, heat rising off his skin in waves, and Simon hurt watching it, wanted to come so very badly, and he couldn't. Instead he pulled his hand out from around Jay's cock and squirted more lube, the bottle making obscene squelching noises as it emptied the last drops. Simon threw it aside, managed to open the almost-full one. He put his mouth against Jay's tense thigh and felt the muscles jump under his tongue. "So beautiful," he murmured. "So hot, so hungry... I'll take care of you, I will. Make you scream." Muscles tensed and shook. "Relax, Jay, baby, relax." He lifted his head long enough to ask, "Ready for four?" A long, low moan was his only answer, which he took for yes.

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Four was... four was a lot. Four burned. Simon's fingers stretched Jay out, pulled him wide, wiggled inside and made him tremble, made him shake. His eyes were open, he knew, but he could barely see the ceiling. Everything swam around him, unfocused and dim. Before, when he'd raised his head and looked down the length of his body, past the quivering stomach muscles and his hard, heavy, swaying cock, he'd looked down, managed to focus on Simon, and he'd looked so damn good like that, so hot, so excited. Jay could tell from Simon's face, the way Simon's tan was more of a blush, the way those eyes darkened to midnight, the way they focused on his face, a pinpoint concentration. Jay wanted to touch Simon everywhere, the same way Simon was touching him, and then Simon had stopped moving and the entire world fell away and Jay had to shift down and then up to get it back, the sensations and the stroking and the slide and glide and rub. He couldn't keep his head up then, he couldn't even breathe. His hand tight around his cock now, Simon's fingers inside him, Simon's mouth on the hot skin of his thigh. His muscles tensed all over his body, even muscles he didn't know he had. He burned; he was surprised he hadn't burst into flame. Spontaneous combustion. He gasped, moaned, tried and failed to pull air into his lungs. He could barely feel the sheets under him. There was nothing but Simon's fingers and Simon's lips and his own grasping hand. He started pumping his cock again, wanting to come, needing to come, and again Simon stopped him, pried his hand off. "Wait," Simon whispered. "Just wait. You're so good, so close, I know, but it'll be so much better, like you never imagined. Gonna take you to the edge, Jay, gonna push you over." And Jay couldn't even form words to tell Simon to shut up and get the fuck on with it. Simon watched that skinny body shake and tremble, watched stomach muscles clench and ripple under the skin. One of Jay's hands dug into his thigh, the other had grabbed a fistful of bedsheet. Jay's cock swayed, red and purple and the veins in it throbbing, the head leaking. Simon leaned in again and delicately licked up the side, afraid as he did so that Jay would come and it would be over. He put his free hand on Jay's belly, gently stroked the tight muscles. "Relax," he murmured. "Jay. Listen to my voice, yeah? Feel my hand, here. Feel my fingers." He wiggled them slightly. Jay sucked air. "Be calm. Float. Ready? Are you ready for the whole thing? Say yes. Say something. I need to hear your voice, Jay, need to know you want it." "Oh, oh, fuck," Jay moaned. "Fuck... fuck me... Now. Now. Now." Jay'd be babbling if he had any breath behind those words.

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"Anything you want, luv. Anything." Simon drenched his trapped hand, his wrist, Jay's stretched hole, then put his free hand back on Jay's stomach, low down, and massaged the tension there. "Let me in," he said, his voice low, soothing. "Let me in, Jay. Open up and let me in. Relax, here, and here, and let me take care of you. Let me make you scream." While he talked he pulled his fingers most of the way out, tucked his thumb under, eased his hand in to the knuckles. Jay trembled under his hand, around his hand. Jay's hips lifted. The boy shook. Simon knew how it felt, knew the stretch and burn. "So good," he went on, "so hungry, so hot. So ready, you are. Want you so bad, wanna be inside you, fucking you slow, fucking your tight sweet arse, sucking that gorgeous cock." Jay was still breathing - Simon could hear the rasp, the wheeze. "Let me do it, baby, let me in." He worked his hand sideways, pushing slowly, and then he was in, his hand sucked inside, trapped to the wrist. He blinked, momentarily stunned. He did it. He made a fist, slowly, and very slowly pumped it. "Jay," Simon said, awestruck, "oh, Christ, Jay, look at this. Look at me." Jay couldn't. Well, he could, he could lift his head, but he could hardly see. He knew Simon was at the foot of the bed, between his legs, an entire hand inside, but he couldn't focus. He could only feel. "Can't," he gasped, his head falling backwards. "Can't... Oh, fuck, oh... oh, fucking... fucking hell... Simon..." "Right here, Jay, right here. Feel me?" "Yeah... Jesus God... So, so... so much... So... full..." That was it. Full. So full of Simon, more than he'd ever been, more than any time he'd ever pulled Simon's cock inside him and let Simon fuck him until they both screamed and came. He'd never felt anyone so far inside him. He felt complete for the first time in his life. Suddenly he knew what it was to have someone that deep inside you, body and soul, flesh and bone, everything that ever was or ever would be. He shook, muscles convulsing as Simon gently clenched and unclenched that fist, moving so carefully inside it was like worship, like something sacred. An honor. A benediction. Jay couldn't take it. It was too much, it was everything. Spots popped in front of his unseeing eyes. He heard a faint roaring like the distant ocean. He gasped for air. "Oh, Jay," Simon whispered, "Jesus Christ, Jay, baby, just look at yourself..."

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But he couldn't. He had no control over himself anymore, no control over anything. Simon was going to come. Because Jay was beautiful, the way he trembled around Simon's hand, the way he'd looked when he lifted his head to see them joined together. Jay's eyes were so unfocused, wide and clouded, dark like an oncoming thunderstorm and his mouth hung open a bit as he gasped for air, and his lips were swollen and Simon just wanted to kiss them until they bruised. And now Jay had gone silent. Simon leaned forward, bending down toward the swaying cock, his fist pulling inside Jay's body, and Jay moaned, a pained sound, and Simon eased back, pumped again, flexed his hand inside the close warmth and the most secret, sacred place he'd ever touched. "Fuck me," he said hoarsely, in awe. He moved again, feeling Jay clench around his hand, feeling the boy jerk and shake and then Jay was screaming and coming... Maybe it was the words, but the world exploded in sensation and bright flares and Jay felt it up his spine and down to his toes and in every cell, and he threw back his head and howled like it was the end of the world, coming endlessly, spraying his chest and his stomach and still pumping. He lost time, he lost breath, he forgot who he was and where he was and why. The scream trailed off into a hoarse whisper, then a whimper, then nothing. Jay saw spots. He heard the ocean loud in his ears. And then he saw nothing but black, heard nothing but silence. A man could come from watching, Simon thought. He held very still as Jay climaxed again and again and then passed right out, held very still until he heard Jay breathing. And then he very carefully felt for the lube, squirted it around, and very carefully pulled his hand out. Oh, was he hard. If such a thing could slip one's mind it had, while he was busy watching and feeling Jay come. But now, now, Simon touched his straining cock through his boxers and that was all it took before he was shuddering and coming in his shorts like he hadn't done since he was thirteen. But he felt so good, relaxed and tired and calm, with a warm, nameless comfort in his belly. He pulled off the boxers, used them to wipe his hand, threw them toward the bathroom, and climbed up next to Jay. He bent over and licked the boy clean, tasting salt and sweat and semen and that faint whisper that was simply Jay. By the time Simon was done Jay was coming to. Those eyes dragged opened and slowly focused, and Jay smiled a lazy, sated smile, eyes were still dark and drugged and glazed, but at least Jay looked like he could see. Simon lay down next to him. "Reckon that was okay," he said offhandedly, and grinned. "Yeah," Jay breathed out. "Yeah," Jay said, again. Even sounded drugged. "Holy hell."

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Simon rolled onto his side. He laid his hand on Jay's cheek, searched the storm-gray eyes.

"What?" Jay asked.

"Nothing, luv. Nothing. Making sure you're okay."

"Yeah, I am. Didn't hurt me. I said you wouldn't."

"You were amazing, luv. So tight around me, so hot. So beautiful when you come."

"I passed out. Shit. Really passed out. It was, it was... I don't know what it was. More.

Everything." Jay snuggled against Simon, rested his head on Simon's shoulder. "Wow."

"Jay, look at me for a sec, yeah?" Jay turned and looked up, and Simon kissed him, hungry

tongue parting the swollen lips. Jay kissed back, but slow and sloppy, as if half-asleep

already and kissing by instinct.

"I'm so... There's, there's a word..."

"It's okay. You can sleep."

He thought maybe Jay did, and drifted himself for a while, feeling happy and content and

oddly complete.

"Simon," Jay said suddenly, sounding almost scared. Jay's hand twitched, grabbed at Simon's

arm.

"Right here, luv," Simon said. "I'm always right here."

"Simon..."

"Yeah?"

"You're here."

"Said I was." Simon looked down. "You okay?"

"Maybe, maybe... no. Just... it's, it was perfect. You and me, and, and we were... one person.

Inside. And, and it's gone now..."

"No it isn't." Simon reached up to stroke Jay's hair. "I'm here, you're here. Still be here in the

morning. Go to sleep, Jay baby. I'll take care of you. Said I would, yeah?"

"Yeah..." Jay's eyes slid closed. Simon wrapped arms and legs around him, held tight until

they were both asleep.

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*** Simon woke up first, because he usually did, having been blessed with the ability to survive on not very much sleep, and he'd rolled over in the middle of the night so now they were lying opposite to the way they usually did - Simon was on the outside, on his stomach, Jay up against him, one of Jay's arms across his shoulders and one of Jay's legs thrown over his thighs. Simon gently extricated himself and went into the bathroom to take a piss and examine himself in the mirror. He wasn't a bad-looking bloke, he reflected. Had the sun-kissed skin, the bleached-out hair, the sly smile, the blue eyes, and maybe his face was a little too hard, a little too sharp, but he liked the little bar he'd put in his eyebrow, having replaced the ring with a spike, and then the spike with a bar. Little steel bar, with little steel balls on either end. Matched his Prince Albert. He looked at his hand, clenched and unclenched his fist. What he'd done last night, what they'd both done... Christ. Fucking hardcore. The sounds Jay made, the look on the boy's face, the way Jay quivered and rippled and trembled with Simon's hand inside him... Those endless, throat-ripping screams, the taste of Jay's come. Just thinking about it was enough to make Simon hard again. And Jay trusted him, literally put his life in Simon's hand, a purer thing than anything he'd ever gotten from anyone, ever. No one had ever trusted him like that, not when they were sober. Even now he wasn't sure if he'd trusted Maria those years ago, or if he'd just done it because he loved her and she wanted him to. No, Jay really honestly trusted him. Jay loved him. And if Simon had ever doubted it, he'd been proven wrong. He'd never met anyone with such pure, clear faith in him, and that was strange but a rush, too. Love and faith... He fingered his scarred nipple, then thoughtfully fingered the other one. He missed that piercing. Maybe he'd get the other nipple done. Yeah, today, while he was thinking about it. He wished he'd had them both pierced at the same time - he could've run a chain between them, Jay could've played with it, or someone at the Dungeon, that would've been nice. Eh, chance was gone now. Maybe he could get a chain from his nipple to his cock; that might be interesting. Future body mods decided on, Simon went out into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator and hung off the door, peering inside. There still wasn't any cranapple, but there was some orange juice, which he finished off. The milk had turned - it had solid bits floating in it now. There really wasn't anything worth eating. One of them would have to go shopping pretty soon.

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He heard the footsteps and saw Jay's feet out of the corner of his eye, and so wasn't surprised and didn't jump when Jay wrapped arms around his waist and pressed lips to his neck. "Morning, sunshine," Simon said.

"Mm," Jay murmured into his skin. "You smell good." Jay was hoarse, and no wonder.

Simon was surprised the boy had any voice at all.

"I do? Surprised I don't smell like you. There's fuck-all to eat, we gotta go out for breakfast."

"Okay." Now it felt like Jay was resting his cheek between Simon's shoulder blades, because

that fine hair was tickling him. And fancy that, Jay was semi-hard against the back of his

legs.

"Simon?" Jay said.

"Yeah?"

"Last night?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"No problem." The cold air was good on Simon's naked skin, but not so great for his cock,

which was trying to pull inside his body, and that was kind of embarrassing. Besides, he could use some coffee and bacon and eggs. He fancied something with grease in. "It was... fucking hardcore."

Simon chuckled. His thoughts exactly. How scary they were in tune like that. It was also just

funny to hear Jay say it.

"You were incredible," he said, "took me in, didn't complain."

"I loved it. I mean, I just, I really loved it. It was more than I thought, and, and it was...

everything."

Simon straightened up, closed the refrigerator door, turned around in Jay's arms.

"Wanted to do it for you. You asked, and you never ask, so..." He shrugged. "Sounded like

you liked it."

"Yeah." Jay smiled, looking like he wasn't fully awake. Either that or Jay looked like he was

about to pounce, and Simon was amazed and a little annoyed he couldn't tell the difference.

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Jay leaned in and kissed him, a slow morning kiss, and then Jay's arms tightened around Simon's waist and that hot tongue probed around Simon's mouth and Simon could feel Jay getting harder, could feel both of them getting harder. He put his hands in Jay's hair and maybe Jay took that as some kind of hint, because the boy dropped to his knees on the linoleum, mouth against Simon's belly, chin against the base of Simon's cock and then wrapped closed warm fingers around it. "Good morning," Simon said, happily surprised. Jay's mouth moved down and teased Simon for a bit, licking and sucking and playing with the steel ring, one hand fondling Simon's balls and the other arm holding the back of Simon's knees. Simon moaned and his hands tightened in Jay's hair. "That's good," he murmured, "fucking good..." Jay teased him with teeth and tongue and hands, and then Simon watched Jay pull back, suck on two fingers, and lean in again, glancing up with what Simon would swear was a wicked grin. Oh, yeah, Jay was learning the looks as well as the touches. The looks were sometimes just as important. Jay pulled on Simon's knees, tugging him away from the fridge, and then two wet fingers slid into Simon's ass. Simon gasped. The fingers moved slowly, keeping time with the slide of Jay's mouth. In and out, up and down, and then Simon was rocking back and forth, fucking Jay's mouth and being fucked by Jay's fingers. He felt more, suddenly, and knew he had three inside now, pressing and stroking and stretching and oh, oh, Christ, right there, oh, fucking hell that was good, again, harder, don't stop... Simon was moaning words, probably not making any sense but not caring. His hands on Jay's head gave him something to hold on to, something to mark time with, and he rocked steadily, out and in, trying to push himself down Jay's throat and then down Jay's hand, just letting himself get lost in it, the warm, wet heat, and the long bony fingers rubbing right there. "Christ, Jay... so good..." Maybe Jay said something in response, he couldn't tell. But Jay's cheeks had hollowed, mouth pulling on his cock, probing the weeping slit with a hot tongue, and murmuring around it, vibrations making the hairs on Simon's neck stand up with pleasure. "Again, do that... do that again..." Simon watched through half-closed eyes as Jay swallowed him nearly all the way down, farther than before, and Simon wished he could see the muscles in Jay's throat working around his hot, hungry flesh. He could feel them, he just wanted to see. He felt himself losing control, losing his rhythm, as Jay sucked harder and stroked Simon's sweet spot again and again, determined and knowing. Simon was so proud. And then Simon was fucking Jay's mouth gracelessly, just pounding into him and moaning and babbling and his hands in Jay's hair and Jay's fingers in his ass held him steady as he jerked and squeezed and screamed and came.

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Jay held Simon's cock in his mouth, sucking gently and murmuring around it as Simon's head settled down on his shoulders and Simon came back to himself. Jay's fingers slid out, then he let go, then he stood up. Jay was grinning like the cat who ate the canary, and Simon panted a laugh. Sometimes Simon really loved this boy. "For last night," Jay said, kissing him. Simon could taste himself on Jay's lips, and he loved that, too. "The least I could do."

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Chapter Four There was a guy who liked to have Simon spank him. Simon figured him for an industry guy, but didn't know his real name and didn't recognize his face or his voice, and so decided he must be a behind-the-scenes kinda guy. Either that or a wannabe, some struggling actor living dangerously or doing it for "research". He said his name was Joe - like Joe Average which just made Simon laugh. How many average Joes liked to be spanked in motel rooms by hard-hitting rent boys? Joe liked to watch himself getting off. Simon would rather be spanked, but he also liked to be watched, and when Joe wasn't riveted by his own face, he was watching Simon's. Simon licked his lips suggestively and played it up. Simon could've been an actor, too, and sometimes wanted to tell the guy. Joe would face the mirror on the wall, hands flat against it, bent a little at the waist, naked ass out, and Simon (also naked) would lay into him with a paddle. When Joe was good and hot, worked up and close, Simon would get down on both knees and suck Joe off. Joe's eyes would never leave the mirror. He paid more if you could get hard to the point of climax but not come, and while Simon wanted nothing more than to shoot on the guy's feet, the money was good. Besides, Simon had his hand, and later had Jay. Today, after they were done, after Joe had paid and vanished, Simon splashed water on his face, willed his hard-on to go down, and went out searching. It was pissing down rain; Jay would be in the library. Simon was soaking wet by the time he got there, and earned a whole dictionary of looks as he dripped through the stacks and public spaces looking for Jay, who was in Biography reading a pretty heavy-looking book. "Whatcha reading?" Simon asked. Jay marked a page and flipped the book closed so Simon could see the cover - it was a biography of Sir Richard Francis Burton. "Got pictures of Liz in there?" Simon asked. Jay looked at him blankly. "You're wet," Jay said. "It's raining, isn't it? Anyone ever come back here?" "I did." Jay shrugged. "Why?" Simon pulled him to his feet. "Don't wanna be interrupted," he said, pushing Jay back against the tall shelf of books and kissing him hungrily. Jay squeaked but it didn't take long before the boy melted into the kiss and pressed against Simon, evidently not caring that Simon was getting him wet.

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"We can't," Jay gasped when they broke for air.

"Sure we can. We're taxpayers, ain't we?"

"Actually, no."

"Christ, Jay, I don't care, I need it so bad. Need you."

"Me?" Jay blinked, looking surprised but pleased.

"Yeah, you, you daft boy. Less talk, yeah? More fucking."

Simon's hands were everywhere now, working at his sodden jeans, Jay's worn-soft khakis.

He wanted to push Jay down on the floor, spread those long legs, and pound him through the carpet. He was so hot and so hard from that spanking he was about to go off, but he wanted to come inside Jay, wanted that tight warmth, the feel of Jay's skin under his hands, the smell of sweat and desire rising off the back of Jay's neck. "Turn around," he rasped. Jay obediently turned and faced the books and grabbed a shelf.

"We don't - " Jay started to say, but Simon sucked noisily on his fingers, pushed one and then

two inside, spat in his hand and slicked his cock with that and the pre-come leaking from it,

and then with a needy groan he was inside. He thrust deep and hard and desperate, wanting it

too much to even speak.

It took no time at all before he came, stifling his cry against Jay's shoulder.

"Oh, Christ," he panted, "needed that so bad. So good, you are, so fucking good..."

"But, but I need to - "

"Shh. Half a minute, yeah? I'll take care of you, you know I will."

He pulled out –heard Jay bite back a whimper - then spun Jay around by the shoulders, kissed

him quick, then went to his knees for the second time that day to take a hard, hungry prick in his mouth and get someone off. Jay dug long fingers into Simon's hair, clenching both hands into fists as Jay's hips snapped and he came down Simon's throat. That hadn't taken long either. "Fuck," Jay panted. "Holy fuck. You're insane." "Nah," Simon stood up, grinning, and helped Jay put himself back together. They shared

another kiss, this one slower, more relaxed, faintly Jay-flavored.

"What... what was that? I mean, where'd it come from?"

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"Doesn't matter." Jay didn't need to know. Simon knew Jay had a problem with the paddling. "I just wanted you. That's not enough?" "No, no, it is. It's enough." "Better be." Simon grinned again. "C'mon. I'll buy you food and then we'll go somewhere and shag properly." "Okay." Jay was grinning now, too, a silly grin, and Simon wondered idly if Jay'd ever like spanking, or being spanked. It hardly seemed fair to the poor boy that Simon had these kinks he had to work out with someone else, but Jay still reaped the benefits, and really, neither of them could complain. *** Jay had finally managed to convince Simon to go to San Francisco with him, although Simon was annoyingly vague about when. But they were leaving, which was the important thing. Jay wanted to call his mom and tell her. He wanted her to know he was okay. She wasn't home. Jay got his younger sister Lily on the phone instead. "Dad's gonna kill you," was her response, after he'd explained everything. "He's not gonna be able to find me." "He's gonna kill me." Her voice rose. "He's gonna be so pissed off, he's gonna come after me with a shotgun 'cause he'll think I'm not telling him…" "Lily - Lily! Shut up." Jay sighed. He should've known this would be a mistake. "Look. Just tell Mom... tell her I'm gonna be okay." He glanced sideways at Simon, who seemed utterly uninterested. "Just tell her we're leaving, okay?" "'We?' You and who, the mouse in your pocket?" Jay could almost hear the wheels turning in his sister's head. "It's some guy, isn't it? Is he your boyfriend?" "No, Lily, he's my pimp," he snapped. Simon looked up, startled. Jay shook his head, mouthed Sorry, she's annoying the shit out of me. Lily made a noise that sounded like someone snorting soda out her nose. "Dad's gonna break my head," she spluttered. "'Jay went to some city with his boyfriend who's also his pimp.' Oh, God." "He's not my pimp! Jesus Christ, Lily, get a fucking grip." Now he sounded like Simon, which made Simon grin. Jay sighed again. This was too damn hard - he should've just sent his mom a postcard. Going to San Francisco. Don't worry. As if that would make any

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difference. His dad was probably intercepting all the mail trying to find him. That's assuming his dad actually cared whether or not he was still alive. "Want me to talk to her?" Simon asked cheerfully.

"No. Just tell Mom that, okay?" Jay said into the phone. "I'm gonna be fine. I'm not coming

home."

"Okay, okay," Lily muttered sullenly. "You'll miss my funeral."

"Too bad. If you're still alive in a couple months you can come visit me."

"You and your boyfriend."

"Fuck it, forget it. Tell them whatever you want. Don't tell them anything. I don't give a rat's

ass." Simon was grinning at him. "What?"

"Listen to yourself," Simon said. "'Rat's ass.' It's tough as nails you are."

"Yeah, yeah. Lily, I gotta go. Just... hang on until you're out of high school, okay? And then

leave, go as far as you can."

"I'm gonna find you, Jay," she said. "I swear to God, I'm gonna find you and give you so

much shit for leaving me here."

Something must have shown on his face, because Simon said, "Hang up, Jay," very seriously

and put his hand on the phone. "Now."

"Lily, Lily, listen. I love you, okay? You're a brat but you're still my sister. Don't hate me, I

had to do it, I had to leave."

"Jay."

"Okay, Simon, I know, I know. I know. Take care of yourself, okay? Don't, don't let him hurt

you."

"Jay, hang up the bloody phone."

"I gotta go, Lily, we're leaving. I'm sorry, I am. Really. Save your money, come live with

me."

Now Simon shook his head. No fucking way.

"God, Jay," Lily sniffled. Oh, Jesus, he thought, he couldn’t handle her crying at him. Simon

took the phone.

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"We're going now," he told Lily. "He'll write you later, yeah? Bye." And he hung up. "Christ, Jay, your family's a right fucking mess." "I know," Jay sighed. "I hate it when she cries on me."

"Well, come on, we still got stuff to do. Later we'll get drunk and shag like rabbits, and to

hell with the lot of 'em."

"Sounds like a plan."

*** "Simon?" "Right here." A tired voice in his ear, a hand on his hip. Reassuring. "Simon?" "Yeah?" "I think... Nothing. Nothing." Jay thought - no, he knew - he'd had too much to drink. They'd run errands after his phone call, collected from some guy who owed Simon money, and then Simon had something to do on his own, so Jay went to the coffee shop and sat outside and read the newspapers they kept around for the customers. They still had the Sunday paper, so he read the travel section again, and the book reviews. And then Simon had come back for him and they'd had a couple of appointments, and then they'd gone and had drinks and some fries. Jay didn't really like beer so he had cider, but he had almost no tolerance and after two pints he was pretty well buzzed. It took Simon a bit longer than that, so Jay had two more to keep him company. They'd made it as far as the bus station before they were all over each other. Drinking made Jay unbearably horny, although even sober just looking at Simon could make him hard. Simon had pulled him back into a doorway, away from the bus stop and the people who made Jay nervous, and kissed him until he couldn't breathe. "Simon?"

"Hm?"

"Are you awake?"

"Am now."

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"Oh. Sorry." "Jay. Relax, yeah?" "Yeah." They'd ducked into an alley and around the back of some building and leaned against the wall and kissed some more, and a drunken Jay was a sloppy kisser but very determined, and hard enough to pound nails. Simon had pulled his pants down, gone to both knees on the asphalt, swallowed Jay to the root and sucked him until his eyes rolled back in his head and he forgot how to breathe. There was this thing Simon did with his tongue, it made Jay nuts. Jay wanted to learn how to do it, too, but Simon said the only way was practice, so they'd kissed and fondled some more behind that building, and then Simon wanted a Slurpee so they went in search of a 7-11 with a bathroom, and once they found one Jay filled his mouth first with Slurpee and then with Simon. He made Simon yell, cold ice around a hot prick, and when they left (Jay wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and Simon looking a little dazed) the cashier raised two fingers to her lips and pretended to blow cigarette smoke at them. She'd heard. Jay had blushed, and Simon had laughed. "Simon?" "Still here." The hand on his hip dropped in front of him, rested flat against his stomach. "Just checking." And it was all so good, and they'd gotten on the bus and sat in the very last seat, Jay next to the window and Simon wedged up against him so he could put one hand on Jay's thigh and stroke his aching cock through his pants. Simon had turned and pretended to gnaw on Jay's shoulder, and Jay had had to bite his tongue to keep from moaning out loud. They'd gotten off the bus before their stop because they were dangerously close to attacking each other right there on the backseat. There were trees near where they stopped, something that looked like a little neighborhood park, so they'd gone and hidden themselves from the street and Simon had fucked Jay up against a tree that shook and dropped leaves in their hair. They flopped on the grass and fooled around some more, and for once Jay didn't care how much noise they made or what they did or who might possibly see them. But he'd also had four pints of cider, which was a lot for him, so he was drunk, and that made him reckless and randy and, now, a little paranoid, which was why he kept having to make sure Simon was still there on the bed next to him. They'd finally made it back home, exhausted and sticky and still with their hands all over each other, and they'd drunk a lot of water and eaten some aspirin, and then they'd had sex in the shower, because they could (they didn't even care that the showerhead was broken again), and then they'd fallen into bed. Jay's brain was running but his body had tired itself out, and he wanted to say something but he didn't know what, and he didn't exactly want sex but he did. He didn't know what he wanted, except his mind was restless and he was suddenly afraid

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that Simon was going to vanish, just disappear, but Simon lay curled around him and it just

wasn't going to happen.

But Jay had to make sure.

"Simon...?"

"Mm."

"We're really leaving."

"We are."

"You're, you're coming with me."

"Came with you enough the past couple hours." Simon chuckled. "You're not tired out yet?"

"Kinda." Jay rolled over. Their foreheads touched, they lay that close together. Jay's eyes

crossed with the effort of trying to focus, and he grinned. "And I think I'm still kinda drunk."

"Got cider breath, you do." Simon kissed his nose. "Taste like it, too."

"Even after the Slurpee?"

"You were sucking down those pints like water."

"I only had three. Four."

"Not complaining here. Makes you bloody hot." Simon's face tilted and he kissed Jay on the

lips this time, his mouth warm and possessive, his tongue probing. Jay melted into it. They wrapped arms and legs around each other and just like that were both ready to go again. Sometimes all it took was a good deep kiss. They locked lips for what felt like hours - they didn't take their clothes off (although they were only wearing their boxer shorts anyway, and Jay had on a T-shirt), didn't fondle each other that much, just let themselves go with long, deep, almost exploratory kisses and two bodies moving languorously against each other. It was like being underwater, Jay thought, everything in slow motion, like they had all the time in the world. Jay's brain wound down as he lost himself in the taste of Simon's mouth and the physical fact of Simon's presence, the hands on his face, in his hair, the body on top of him, the low throaty sounds that could be coming from either one of them. Jay's orgasm built so slowly that he was surprised when he came. "Oh," he gasped at the sudden wet stickiness between him and Simon. He tried to say something, explain how that came out of left field and ask how Simon did it, but Simon kissed him and cut him off.

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"Relaxed now?"

"Yeah, I think. I think... I think I'm tired. What about, what about... you..."

"Right behind you, luv." And Jay felt Simon's hand between them, bent his head and

managed to focus on Simon's hand down inside Simon's boxers, looked up again at Simon's angular, familiar face, at the flush across those cheeks, blue eyes dark and half-closed. Jay pulled Simon's head down and kissed him as Simon came with a shudder and a groan. Just like that, so easy and peaceful, so simple. Sometimes things really were that simple, and a good fuck followed by a long kiss followed by an unhurried orgasm was the solution to all the world's problems. Simon rolled over and pulled Jay off the bed, led him into the bathroom and sponged them both down, wiping off come and sweat and the lingering smell of city bus. Jay swayed as the cider finally wore off and his mind and his brain caught up with each other. "Simon...?"

"Yeah?"

"How come you're still, you're still standing?"

"Fucked the beer right out of me." Simon grinned. Jay grinned drowsily back. "Come on,

back to bed." They staggered back into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed.

"You're really leaving with me," Jay murmured.

"I am."

"Good. It's good. We'll be, we'll be happy. Wherever."

"We will." Simon kissed the back of Jay's neck and wrapped an arm around him. They lay

like they usually did - Jay on his side at the edge of the bed, facing out, Simon spooned up

against him. Skin to skin, merging together.

"Simon?"

"Jay?"

"I. Um. You know." He'd say it and Simon would laugh, Simon always laughed, so he'd

stopped saying it. But he still meant it.

"Yeah, I know. Me, too." "Really?"

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"Really. Go to sleep now, yeah? 'S late."

"Okay... Okay." It took all of thirty seconds for Jay to fall asleep, secure and sated and for

once completely and uncomplicatedly happy.

*** They should have known it couldn’t last. One night Simon got home late enough that he figured Jay had beaten him there, but apparently Jay hadn't because the place was empty and dark, and Jay always waited up for him. He kicked off his shoes on the way to the bedroom, trying to navigate around the furniture by memory and walking into the couch anyway. He slapped the bedroom light on and there was Jay, still dressed, curled in a ball on the edge of the bed. Jay had his arms wrapped around his head like he was trying to protect himself, or trying to hide, or possibly trying to hold his skull together.

"Didn't know you were home," Simon said. He pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it at the

closet. "When'd you get back?" No answer. "Jay? You awake?"

"Yeah," Jay mumbled from inside folded arms. Jay didn't sound right. Simon looked over,

then went around to the side of the bed and knelt down by Jay's head. "You okay?"

Jay shrugged, a twitch of thin shoulders. "Something happen?" No answer. "That bitch

Michael hurt you? I'm gonna break his dick this time, fucking cut it off and - "

"No, it wasn't... No." Jay sounded like he'd been crying. A couple of possibilities skipped

through Simon's head, none of which were good.

"Jay," Simon said gently, "look at me." He put a hand on Jay's arm and tried to pull it off.

"Please." Jay moved stiffly, turning to look at Simon. Jay'd been in a fight but wasn't too

badly beaten, in the grand scheme of things - a bloody nose, a split lip. "Was it a john?"

Simon asked.

Jay shook his head.

"Another rent boy?"

Shake.

"A boy you don't know?"

Shake.

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"A total stranger!"

Shake.

"Christ, Jay, someone did that!" Simon stood up, frustrated. He wanted to hit something, or

someone - preferably someone. He wished he knew who.

He knelt next to the bed again, reached out a hand to touch Jay's face, make sure that nose

wasn't broken, and Jay flinched. Jay never flinched from him. Simon pulled his hand back.

"Right," he said. "Someone hit you. You're gonna tell me who."

"No."

"Yes."

"No. Just, just turn off the light, and, and, and... I can't."

Simon made a face, then got up, went into the bathroom, wet a washcloth in the sink, and

took it back to the bedroom. He squatted by the bed and tried to wipe some of the dried blood

off Jay's face. "Hold still," he said. "Just wanna see what's under here." He had to hold Jay's chin but eventually managed to clean the boy off. "That's better. Yeah, your face'll heal. Now what happened?" "Nothing." But Jay wouldn't look at him.

"Like hell. Shirt off. Lemme see." Simon had a feeling, and more than that he had

experience. He'd gone home more than once hiding bruises and cracked bones under his

clothes.

"Don't. Please."

Simon tried a different tack. His voice softened. "Said I'd take care of you, yeah? Just wanna

do that. Let me do it."

"No, just... just..." Jay buried his head in his arms again. His shoulders shook, then his whole

body, silently.

Now Simon was worried as well as frustrated and pissed off.

"Someone..." he started to say. Someone hurt you. More than just Jay's face. Simon knew. He

could tell. He laid a hand on Jay's shoulder, trying to calm the boy. "I wanna help, but I need

to know what's wrong."

"I can't," Jay sniffled. "I can't."

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"Can't what?"

"Can't tell you."

"'Course you can. Can't shock me." Can't hide from me either, Simon thought, switching

gears once more and pulling Jay's arms away. "Just sit up, okay? Don't have to tell me what

happened. Just wanna make sure I got all the blood off." Jay bit his lip, apparently thinking about it, and then twisted around, dropped his legs over the side of the bed, and pushed himself upright. He moved slowly, stiffly, with a fair amount of wincing. Simon ground his teeth. Broken bones? Maybe something else. Simon was kneeling between Jay's legs now, looking up at him, and Jay couldn't meet Simon's eyes. "We'll go to the clinic," Simon said, "get you looked at."

"No!"

Simon blinked at the outburst. "No?"

"I can't, I can't..." Jay shook his head, then twisted away and lay down again on the far side of

the bed, back to Simon.

"I'll go look on my own, then." Simon's hands twitched. He needed to wrap them around

something and squeeze, needed to throw punches, needed to draw blood. Someone had to

answer for this. He stomped toward the closet, swept his T-shirt up off the floor, pulled it on.

"Sit tight. Gonna get this sorted."

"Don't." Jay rolled over to face him. "Please. Don't go. Stay with me. Please don't leave." Jay

looked like he was going to cry, and while there were a lot of things Simon could turn his

back on, Jay in tears wasn't one of them. "Simon, I'm so scared..."

"Of what?"

"Just... I am. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Simon dragged a hand through his hair, still feeling a little violent, then flipped

off the light, lay down next to Jay, and gently put his arms around the boy. Jay held on

surprisingly tightly, buried his face in Simon's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Jay said again, voice muffled against cotton and skin.

"It's okay. It is. I'll take care of you. Always have done."

"You don't - "

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"Yeah, Jay baby, I do." Simon held him and murmured comfortingly while Jay sobbed into his shoulder like a dam had burst, until he finally tired out and fell asleep. And Simon continued to hold on and murmur, thinking about the world they lived in and the things they did, for the first time in a long time feeling completely responsible for someone else. He wanted to do something, and this was the only thing he could do - wrap himself around this boy who trusted him, stroke his hair and whisper lies in his ear, telling him everything would be fine. Simon must have nodded off, because suddenly he was pulled awake by Jay shifting restlessly. "Simon," Jay whispered, the sharp edge of hysteria in his voice. "Simon?" "Right here," Simon said. "What's wrong?" "I don't, I don't know." "Go back to sleep. Won't let anything hurt you." Simon pressed his lips to Jay's forehead. "We'll deal with it in the morning." "Okay. Okay." "Things're gonna be fine. Trust me." "Okay..." Jay settled deeper into Simon's embrace, almost as if he wanted to crawl inside Simon's skin, and fell back asleep as Simon traced soothing circles around his back. Simon was awake now and thinking again, and for once really frustrated, with himself and Jay and the whole hard world they inhabited. He was tough, he could handle it. Jay couldn't. Simon's answers to the world's problems were very simple: sex, dancing, assorted perception-altering substances (usually drinks, occasionally drugs), sometimes doing a runner. He'd come across very few things in the course of his life that couldn't be cured with one or more of those solutions, and now this was another of them. He didn't know what to do. "I'm trying," he whispered in Jay's hair. "Said I'd try. I'm still here, baby, I'm still here." It wasn't much, in fact it was almost nothing, but it was the best he could offer. It took over a week to get Jay out of the apartment, which Simon eventually managed through a combination of begging, pleading, threats, bribes, and even a brief attempt at being reasonable. Finally Jay said okay, they'd leave, go get ice cream or coffee or something, just out of the house, and balked only a little when Simon said he had some stuff to do and he wanted Jay to come with him.

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They took the bus down near their old haunts, Simon having decided Jay needed to face the things that scared him or he'd be scared the rest of his life. If they went together it wouldn't be that bad. It was a nice day, near sunset, and they walked without being propositioned or taunted, and Jay seemed to relax, and then they ran into Michael. Literally -Michael came tearing around a corner and plowed right into Simon, who shoved the kid off hard enough that Michael fell ass first on the sidewalk. "Watch it, you," Simon snapped. "What's the fucking hurry?" "Ramon," Michael gasped, just sitting there trying to catch his breath. "He's - " "He's what?" Ramon was a pretty Hispanic boy, a new boy, maybe sixteen. He had girlish soft skin and liquid brown eyes and curly hair, and because he was new he was an easy mark. He was gentle, willing, and needy, and in a way reminded Simon of Jay. "He's. He's. Fuck." Michael sucked air, deep heaving lungfuls of it, then pushed to his feet and tried to run. Simon grabbed Michael's arm. "What happened? Take us." Michael shook his head, pointed around the corner. "No, you're coming with. Safety in numbers and all that. Come on." Simon shook Michael's arm and gave him a shove, and Michael led, and Jay and Simon followed. Ramon was back in an alley, curled into a ball on the ground and hidden from the street by a dumpster. Simon went over to shake him awake, tell him to get his ass off the asphalt and out of the alleyway, but Ramon didn't move. There was blood in his hair, on his face, dried dark and stiff on his clothes. Suddenly Simon remembered the stray dog that John the Mad Scot had tried to adopt in Greece. The animal got sick, or hurt, or something, and even though John and his girlfriend tried to take care of it, it stopped coming around the flat and just up and disappeared. Crawled away to die, their landlady had said. To Simon, that's what it looked like Ramon had done - found a nice, quiet, unobtrusive place to die. "Christ," he muttered. It could have been him. It could have been Jay. It very nearly was. "Simon?" Jay said from the mouth of the alley. Simon hoped he couldn't see anything from that vantage point. "He okay?" "No. Fucking... fuck." He'd never seen a dead body before, at least not the dead body of someone he knew. Ramon was still warm. "Simon..." "Call 911," Simon said, staring at the dead boy, all curled up like he'd just gone to sleep. Fucking hell. "But," Michael started to say, and Simon turned on him.

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"You bloody fucking coward," Simon practically yelled, "running off and leaving him? What the FUCK do you think happened? Huh? You think you're fucking SAFE? I don't care if someone breaks your face, but it could be me next time. Could be Jay. Jesus Christ - " Simon gestured behind him at Ramon's still body - "he oughta have someone keep him company. Can't just leave the body." "Body?" Jay asked. "But 911's not gonna help!" Michael cried. "I found him like that! I found him!" Michael sniffled, wiped his nose, and turned and ran, shoving past Jay and tearing out of the alley. "Bitch," Simon muttered. He actually felt a little better for having yelled at Michael. "Jay. Call 911. Get the cops, yeah?" "He's... he's dead. He's dead, isn't he? Someone beat him to death." "Maybe. Can't tell." Simon knelt by the body, gingerly felt Ramon's arms and neck and face, pushed against his chest, felt for broken ribs. Simon was calm; he couldn't believe how calm. "Go call, okay? You don't wanna see." "That could be me. Or you. Or, or, oh, God, Simon - " Simon stood up, turned around, went over to where Jay was standing. He put his hands on Jay's shoulders and turned him around, so they were facing away from the dumpster and Ramon's body, facing out of the alley toward the street. "Shh," Simon said over Jay's shoulder, into one ear. "Take a breath. Listen to me, yeah? Saw a payphone on the corner. Call 911, tell them to send a cop car and an ambulance. Tell them someone's hurt. Then come right back and get me. Okay? Can you do that?" Jay nodded. "Don't worry, nothing's gonna happen to anyone in five minutes." He kissed Jay on the neck and gave him a gentle push, and Jay went. While Jay was gone, hopefully not falling apart to 911, Simon squatted next to Ramon and thought. He knew better than to move the boy, although he'd already touched him, but if the cops lifted his fingerprints and wanted to charge him with something, he had an alibi. If necessary he could have three. But somehow he doubted the city at large would care too much about one dead Hispanic rent boy. "Shoulda stayed home, luv," he said to Ramon's body. "All kinds of nasties out here just waiting for a taste of your pretty arse." Maybe it was uncharitable, but Simon was briefly glad it was Ramon, who he barely knew. Better a vague acquaintance than Simon himself. Better that than Jay. Christ. Jay. They both had to get out of this, for Jay's sake. Simon didn't know what else he would do - what else could he do? - but there had to be something. Maybe he could go full-

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time at the Dungeon, or somewhere like that, maybe get more into the modeling - there was money to be made stripping off your clothes for the internet - maybe he could dance. Maybe. Anything but this, now. Suddenly he wanted to laugh. How had this happened? Twenty-one years he'd been looking out for himself and sometimes barely managing that, and now he was looking out for someone else? Good lord. "Simon?" Jay's voice came from the other side of the dumpster, sounding very young. "I called. I said someone was hurt, and, and it looked bad, and could they hurry, and send the police." "That's good." Simon stood up and went around the dumpster to where Jay was nervously bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking scared but trying to hide it. "Come on. Don't wanna be here when the cops show." "But I thought you didn't want to leave the body." "You wanna explain how you know Ramon to the cops?" The men in blue who patrolled this part of the city were not the most tolerant bunch. "No..." "Okay then." While they talked Simon steered Jay out of the alley and into the street, where the setting sun burnished the windows of the buildings, throwing hard copper light back at the boys. They both blinked, momentarily blinded, then Simon shaded his eyes with one hand and with the other propelled Jay down the street, leaving Ramon alone to the fate of the outcast and the dead. They got on the bus intending to go home but got sidetracked and ended up in one of those bars where Simon knew the bartender and they could get served without question. Normally he'd just have beer but he felt he needed something stronger. Shots. Leave the bottle. And a beer chaser. Three shots and two beers and already his self-preservation was slipping, and that was bad. He stared at himself in the mirror behind the bar and someone who looked vaguely like him stared back. Jay had his head on the bar, an empty pint glass next to him. Fuck. Simon slid off his stool and grabbed Jay's arm. "Come on." Jay lifted his head and blinked. "Huh?" "Come with me." Simon dragged Jay back through the bar to the men's bathroom and locked the door behind them.

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"Simon," Jay began, but whatever else he meant to say was silenced as Simon pushed him against the wall and kissed him hard. He tasted like cider and something sour. Fear. Jay tasted like despair. Simon just kissed harder, as if he could force that sadness out of Jay by sheer will. His hips and shoulders pinned Jay to the wall as his hands traveled over Jay's face and into his hair. "It's gonna be okay," he murmured. "Gonna be fine." "It's not," Jay said. "It's gone, it's, it's ashes." "We're not. You're still alive, yeah? Warm. So warm..." His mouth trailed across Jay's jawline, nipping and sucking down Jay's neck to his collarbone. Hands pushed up inside Jay's T-shirt, palms flat against the boy's chest, caressing the thin ribcage and sides and stomach. Simon dropped to his knees on the tile floor, his hands sliding down to rest on Jay's hips, forehead pressed against the skin now showing above the waistband of Jay's jeans. He breathed in the scent that was uniquely Jay, sweat and soap and laundry detergent and that faint tang of desolation. Simon's tongue flicked out, licked at the beads of sweat, and somewhere over his head Jay sighed. He fumbled with the button on Jay's jeans, dragged the zipper down, freed Jay's hardening cock from his shorts. He turned his head to rub his cheek against warm skin and brown curls. One hand found Jay's balls and rolled them around in his palm. "Don't," Jay said softly above him. "Please, Simon, don't." "Shh. Jay, shh." Simon looked up, chin nestled against the base of Jay's cock. "It's okay. It's good, yeah? I'll make it right, I will." Jay hadn't let Simon touch him all week. Kissing was okay, fondling through clothes was okay, but anything remotely approaching skin-to-skin contact and Jay panicked. Simon was frustrated, in every sense of the word, and had to show Jay that there was nothing to panic about. "Simon, please..." "I need to find you; bring you back - touch you and you're not there. Let me, Jay, please, I need this. Let me take care of you." "You always - do - " Jay's breath hitched as Simon licked down his shaft and sucked on the head. Simon looked up again, grinned, and swallowed Jay down to his balls.

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Simon teased and tongued and very gently used his teeth, one hand now around the back of Jay's knees and the other fondling the warm heavy sacs. Jay moaned involuntarily and dug strong fingers in Simon's sun-bleached hair, hips pumping in and out as Simon's throat worked, squeezing and sliding and taking Jay's breath. "Simon..." Jay moaned. "Oh... Jesus..." Jay thrust faster, hips snapping. Simon stroked the soft skin behind those balls, and the moans turned to whimpers, and Simon looked up and Jay was crying. Bloody hell. Simon wanted to kiss Jay and hold him and lie to him, tell him everything would be okay, they'd leave tomorrow, go to San Francisco or Bali or even Greece, anywhere but here. And instead Simon pulled harder, cheeks hollowing, tongue working the head of Jay's prick, fingers stroking skin. He could handle anything life threw at him - he laughed at it and gave it the finger and walked on - but he couldn't handle this. He couldn’t handle tears. He didn’t know how. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be, not on the dirty tile floor of the men's room in the back of a seedy bar, not fueled by cider and beer and Jack Daniels, not this way at all, but it was all he had. It was the only thing he could do. And that, too, tasted like despair. Humming around Jay's cock, Simon let his fingers stroke, stroke, lips tight around hot flesh. Jay had gone silent except for the pained cries forced past clenched teeth, and as Simon sucked and stroked, his hips snapped and he came in a silent rush down Simon's throat. Simon let Jay's bitter come spill down to his belly, and then he stood up, took Jay's face in his hands, and kissed him - kissed Jay's mouth and nose and eyes, tried to kiss away whatever it was that had made the boy cry. Jay sniffled, put his arms around Simon and held on like he was drowning. "It's okay," Simon murmured. "I'm here, okay? I'm right here. Jay, baby, look at me." He pulled his head back so he could look Jay in the face. Jay was flushed, eyes the gray of oncoming thunderheads, part of that look that Simon loved, but part of it looked like someone who'd found maggots in his garden. "I'm sorry," Jay said. "Don't be. You didn't do anything." "I wanna go, I don't care where, just somewhere. Away. We have to, to get out of here. It could've been you," Jay whispered, gaze dropping. "In the alley." "But it wasn't, Jay. It wasn't me." "But it could've been."

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"But it wasn't. Look at me, luv. It wasn't me. It won't be. Won't be you either." "How do you know?" "Just do. You trust me, yeah?" Jay nodded. "Won't let anything happen to you. Okay? Promise you that." Jay didn't look convinced. Simon kissed him again, gently this time, and put him back in his jeans and zipped them up and straightened his T-shirt and stroked his hair and murmured soothing nonsense. They went back out to the bar and drank until their money was almost gone and they could barely stand, and somehow they made it home in one piece and collapsed on the bed fully dressed, arms and legs tangled together, pressed close for the only comfort that mattered, and the only comfort they could give. Some time later and there was a reason Simon was sitting in the shower still dressed, he just couldn't remember what it was. He reckoned he'd stay here a while, his arm hanging over the side, the water warm on his head and running down his chest. It was nice. He rested his head against the tiles and closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids he saw blue, sky and ocean and the doors of whitewashed houses. Greece. He missed Greece. This was good, warm water and cool tile and the blue Grecian sky, and nothing to do and no one to worry about. He was tired. Maybe he'd catch a nap. He could sleep while wet. He'd certainly slept in stranger places, and at least he was wearing his clothes. He must have dozed off, because suddenly someone was shaking him and calling his name. Simon opened his eyes, blinked water out of them. The shower wasn't raining down on him anymore. He looked curiously at the hand gripping his shoulder, then followed the arm up to a face. "Jay," he said. "Why are you sitting in the shower with your clothes on?" Jay demanded, sounded worried. Why was Jay worried? Simon liked it here. "It's nice and warm. Come on in, the water's warm." He grinned and closed his eyes again. "Don't go to sleep!" Jay shook him. "Come on, wake up, you have to get out of the tub." "Why?" "Because! You're all wet, and, and you just have to. Did you take something? What'd you take?"

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"Did I take something?" Simon repeated. That was a good question. "Pink... pink pills. Little pink pills." Or was that yesterday? Last week? Did it matter? "What little pink pills? How many?" "No, last week. Forget it." "Come on, you're scaring me." Jay grabbed the front of his jacket and somehow managed to haul him upright, at least enough to drag him out of the tub. Simon stood on the bathmat and dripped, and swayed. Christ, he was tired. Jay hauled Simon's arm up around his neck and practically carried Simon into the bedroom, peeled off his clothes, stuffed him into a dry T-shirt and shorts, and then let him fall on the bed. "What'd you do today?" Jay asked, propping Simon up against the headboard and rubbing his head with a towel. Simon couldn't remember what he did, which was just as well because Jay wouldn't have been able to hear him through the towel anyway. "Don't go to sleep on me, okay?" Jay said, finishing the drying. "Not yet. I talked to Michael, he gave me money for the TV, he's gonna come get it tomorrow." Jay was grinning now, looking so pleased with himself that Simon had to grin, too, even though he wasn't sure why. "Good on you," Simon murmured, because it seemed like the right thing to say. "You said I couldn't trust him, you told me to get the money first, so I did. He's gonna bring someone else, in case it's too big for him to carry. Sara wants to look at the couch - you know, the waitress at Amineta's - she wants to measure it and see what color it is. She has this friend who needs one, he doesn't care what kind of shape it's in, and he's got a dog, he doesn't want a nice couch anyway." Jay's voice was putting Simon to sleep. He slid down the headboard, curled up with his pillow. "Good," he mumbled into it. "'S good." "No, don't, don't fall asleep!" Now Jay was shaking him. What was that about? Simon just wanted to sleep. He'd been dragged out of the shower, had his head rubbed with a scratchy towel... Okay, he was dry now, but couldn't Jay leave him alone? He'd had to do too much the past couple weeks, he deserved a rest. "Please, Simon, you have to stay awake." "'M tired." "I know, but, but, please, just try, okay? Please? I'm just... I don't want you to, to not wake up. I mean, we're so close. Listen to me, okay? I got a lot done. I went to the Greyhound station and it's forty-two dollars to San Francisco, and with the fifty dollars Michael gave me for the TV I had enough to get two tickets. So I did. We're leaving Wednesday. We're gonna leave. Finally. That's, that's okay, right?"

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Bus tickets. That was it. Simon managed to drag his eyes open and shake his brain enough to form a coherent thought. "Did that," he said. "Look in... shit. In... my jacket. The pocket. Two tickets." Jay blinked. "You're kidding." "Nope." His eyes closed again. They could sort this out later. "Oh, oh... fuck. Simon..." The bed dipped as Jay got off, and dimly Simon could hear the boy going through his wet clothes looking for the tickets. "Jesus," he heard, "we got four now. We can't use these, they're wet, and mine won't refund anyway... But, but you got tickets. You wanna go." The bed dipped again and creaked as Jay climbed back up. "Yeah," Simon mumbled. "Let's go." But later, when he wasn't so tired. He was warm and dry now, all comfortable on the bed, and things were going to be okay, and it wouldn't kill Jay to let him alone, would it? "Guess it's okay I got them, too," Jay said. Simon felt him lie down, spoon up against him. "I mean, yours are wet, and they'll dry all wrinkled, if the print doesn't rub off. We'll leave on Wednesday." Jay put an arm around him. "Simon?" "Wha." "Did you... um... were you drinking? After you got the tickets? Or before?" "Don' remember." "If, um, if you have to puke? Do it on the floor, okay? And, and, thanks for getting the bus tickets. Even though I got them, too. Just, please, tell me what you took? 'Cause I know it was something. And, and... it freaks me out. A little." "Jay... Jay. Nothing. Relax. 'M okay. Just tired, yeah? Really... fucking... tired." He was. So exhausted, his body and his brain. Behind his closed eyes he could see Greece again, the islands and the sea and the black sand beaches. They'd go to Greece. They could leave tomorrow. But first he wanted to sleep for a bit. "Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. It's okay if I stay here with you, right? You don't mind?" "Just... shh. Shh." "Sorry, I'm sorry. Go to sleep. I'll be quiet. I promise." Jay snuggled closer. Simon wanted to snuggle back but was too weary to move. He felt like... he didn't know what he felt like. Something heavy.

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Love you, he said, or maybe he just thought it. He meant it, anyway. He'd tell Jay in the morning, when he was awake.

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PART THREE – SAN FRANCISCO Chapter Five The bus ride from LA to San Francisco was long and boring, and by the time they found the Y, got a room, and stashed their stuff, it was too late and they were too tired to do anything besides wander around aimlessly and look for something to eat. They'd been on that bus for nine hours. "Nine fucking hours," Simon complained, as they headed into Chinatown. "Next time, we're gonna take a bloody plane." Jay reminded him that they couldn't afford the airfare. They had dinner at a restaurant with ugly fish swimming in huge tanks in the window, and they ate a lot and drank tea and Chinese beer. Jay's fortune cookie’s fortune said he'd be taking a great trip, which just made him laugh because hadn't he already taken a great trip? The great leap forward. Jay held Simon's hand as they went back to the Y, and for the first time he didn't feel as if that would get them dragged into an alley and beaten up. There were other guys walking around holding hands and no one gave them a second glance, although Simon whistled at someone and the guy looked offended. Jay hustled Simon down the street before the guy could call out some large friends. It was full dark and they were both a little cold and damp when they finally decided they were ready to go back to the Y and sleep. They had all kinds of things to do in the morning. "Let's go to Alcatraz," Jay said from the bed, where he sat watching Simon shuck off boots and shirts and jeans. Damn, the man was fine. And Simon'd cornered Jay in the men's room at that bus station they stopped at for half an hour, and the two of them had kissed and groped very briefly, and it had put Jay in a really good mood. "Alcatraz? You wanna see a big empty building slapped on a rock in the middle of the bay?" "Yeah. Didn't you see the movie?" "Twice." Simon stood, stretched, and Jay watched in fascination as the muscles in Simon's stomach and chest and shoulders pulled and flexed, watched as the waistband of Simon's boxer briefs rode a little lower. Jay didn't think he'd ever get tired of watching Simon move. He'd been so nervous and excited all day, not just because of the leaving and the going someplace new, but because he'd gotten Simon to come with him. He felt almost entirely responsible for their future happiness and success here. He felt... mature. In charge. He felt like throwing Simon down on the bed and fucking him through the mattress.

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Hey, he could do that. Simon must have read something on Jay's face, because he got that look that said Yeah, gonna nail you to the floor and make you scream right before he pounced and pushed Jay over backwards on the bed. Jay managed a "Hey!" before Simon's mouth came down on his, and then he just gave up and let it take him away. Somewhere in the middle of the rubbing and groaning and touching and moaning, when they were both utterly naked and damp and hard for each other, Jay remembered the whole reason they were there in the first place - because he'd wanted it. "Simon," he panted, "Simon, this time I wanna... let me..." His hand wrapped around Simon's cock and pumped. Simon sucked in a breath, a bit surprised, and let it out in a moan. "I wanna fuck you," Jay whispered, his voice deep. "Oh, Jesus, Simon, I want... I want to come inside you." It wasn't something he normally asked, although he wasn't exactly asking now. Simon just smiled, that lazy, sexy smile that melted Jay's every resolve, and ground against him hard and slow, and pulled Jay's head close and whispered "Good on you." Jay's only response was to kiss Simon hungrily, wanting him so badly (and loving him so much) that it hurt. "Where's... where'd we put the lube?" Jay panted. "Suitcase," Simon panted back. "No time. Ah, fuck, just..." Simon grabbed Jay's hand, sucked suggestively on the first two fingers. Jay swallowed. Damn. Jay pulled his hand back, reached down between Simon's legs, and kissed him again, hard and desperate, as now-wet fingers probed inside Simon's waiting ass. Simon moaned into his open mouth and pushed up against him. "Okay, okay," Jay said, "okay. Okay. You gotta, you gotta help me... here..." He was almost happy to just lie on top of Simon, rubbing against him, tongue fucking his mouth. Jay loved to kiss. He wasn't that good at it, but he loved doing it, and he couldn't concentrate on that and Simon's ass at the same time. Simon grinned and spread his legs wider, and Jay shifted his weight and plunged right in. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, sweet Jesus, Simon was hot and welcoming and so, so tight, clenching around Jay's cock as Jay thrust, and when Jay leaned down for a kiss Simon's cock rubbed between them, heavy against Jay's belly and hot on his skin. "Harder," Simon hissed. "Christ, Jay, harder..."

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Jay obliged, pumping hard enough to make the bed squeak. "Like that... So good, so... again. Again. Give me... your hand..." Simon's legs draped over Jay's shoulders now, and Simon pulled on his cock in time with Jay's thrusts. Jay wanted to help, wanted to touch him there, too. His hand closed around Simon's and they stroked together. They'd reached a point beyond words. All they could do was touch each other, all they could do was feel. But in the dim light Jay could see, and Simon's voice echoed in his head, 'You're so beautiful when you come,' and Jay could see that beauty reflected in Simon's face, could see it in the crimson flush across his cheeks and the midnight of his eyes, could see it in his swollen lips and the arch of his neck. He trembled under Jay and his eyes closed, and, "Look at me," Jay said, "I wanna watch you." Something Simon had said to him. And then Simon was shaking and stiffening, ass clenching tight around Jay's cock and Simon choked back cries as he came, spurting sticky warmth between them. He grinned an openmouthed, surprised grin. "Your turn, luv," Simon said hoarsely. "Come for me, Jay." It never failed. The sound of Simon's voice and the feel of Simon's body and Jay was gone, just lost in it, barely managing to keep his eyes open and his head on as he climaxed inside this man he loved, this man who'd probably saved his life and who had let Jay save his. Jay collapsed on top of Simon, both of them sweaty and sticky and breathless, and when he could form words again the first thing he said was "Thanks." "For what?" Simon asked. "For, for letting me do that. For letting me fuck you, instead of, of, of you fucking me. I just, I wanted to, I mean, shit, I don't know what I mean." Simon laughed. "Took charge, you did. Dragged me up here, pounded me flat. I'm not complaining." "Good." Jay bent his head for another kiss, this one slower and more leisurely, like they always were afterwards, and then he pulled out, rolled off the bed, and dug out the towel. He cleaned himself off, cleaned Simon off, threw the towel on the floor, and stretched back out on the bed. "If I wake up tomorrow and this was a dream? I just, um, Simon - " "I know." Simon stroked his cheek. "Yeah. I know." "Cool. It's gonna be... more than good. It's... everything's gonna work out this time." He was so tired now, and so happy. Content. He was falling asleep on a creaky bed in a dark room in a Y in a strange city, with nothing sure about tomorrow except that he would wake up with Simon beside him. But that was all he needed. He knew they'd be okay.

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"We'll go see the Rock tomorrow, yeah?" Simon's hands stroked down Jay's body, anchoring him, soothing him, keeping contact. "And then we get to do something I want." Simon sounded tired, too. "Okay." Jay rolled over, pressing back against Simon's bare chest, their legs tangling together. Maybe it was rude to turn his back like that, but he felt safer this way. He needed to know Simon was right there behind him. Simon seemed to understand, spooning close, wrapping an arm around Jay's waist, murmuring something against Jay's neck. "What?" Jay asked. "Nothing." Lips on his shoulder, warm breath in his ear, a hand flat on his stomach, and he closed his

eyes and started to drift off.

"I love you, too," he whispered, and then he was well and truly asleep.

*** Jay went to look for work, something legal for a change, and he was oddly unsurprised that one of the first places he found with a sign in the window was a sex shop called the Pleasure Principle. It looked okay from the outside, but it was a sex shop, and wasn’t he trying to get away from all that? But he needed a job. A legitimate job. Even if it was in a sex shop. At

least he wouldn’t be selling himself this time.

He went inside.

The store was clean and brightly lit, and the displays were good and the shelves were tidy. It

was... welcoming. It was also empty, except for a bearded guy in a flannel shirt behind the

counter.

"Hey, kid," the guy said. "Need help with anything?"

"Are you still looking for, um, for help?" Jay pointed back at the sign.

"Huh. I just put that up an hour ago. You're fast."

"I need a job."

"Well, okay." The guy behind the counter peered at him closely. "How old are you, kid?"

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen?"

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"Yeah. I, um, I have a driver's license." Jay dug in his pocket for the fake license Simon had gotten him and held it out. The guy took it, flipped it back and forth. It was a very good license. He also had one that made him twenty-one, but he was nervous about using it, because he really didn't look old enough to be convincing. "Just moved up from L.A.?" Jay nodded. The guy shrugged. Jay suddenly realized he might not be the owner of the store, and thus not the person to talk to about a job. "What do you know about toys?" He waved his arm around at the store. "Like what kind?" "Tell me about paddles." "The padded leather ones aren't as hard but they sound pretty good. My friend Simon likes wooden ones like hairbrushes." "You like to paddle or be paddled?" That was probably what Simon would call a red flag - see it and you're out of the game - and evidently Jay had learned to be suspicious after all because he asked, "Why?" "Well, if you're a top, and the customer's a top, he can relate better. Whereas if you're the bottom, you can maybe give him that perspective." The guy shrugged. "Nah, doesn't matter. What about restraints? Tell me about them." "Like handcuffs?" "Yeah. Cuffs, collars, harnesses." "Why do you need to know?" Score two for the suspicious, Jay thought. Simon would be proud. "Just wanna know what you know. I want my employees to know about the toys they're selling, what works, what doesn't, pros and cons, that stuff. Customers can tell when you love your job. What's your favorite lube?" The question caught Jay a little off-guard, so he answered it. "ID Juicy Lube. It's nice and thick, and it's fruity." Simon hated it, said he didn't want to taste passion fruit or strawberries when he was sucking someone off. Jay was partial to the wild cherry. "Yeah, ID's good. Gerry - he's not in today - he swears by it. You're really nineteen? You look younger." "I know. Really, though, I am. I swear." Well, he would be in a couple of months, anyway. That was close enough. The guy behind the counter laughed.

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"Don't worry, kid, you won't get the job unless this checks out." The guy waved the license at Jay, then gave it back. Jay shoved it back in his pocket. The picture was embarrassing. "Got any experience?" "With, with toys? Selling stuff? Yeah." "Working retail, kid," the guy said gently. He looked at Jay as though he could see Jay's past, and Jay tried not to run, suddenly quite terrified. Oh, God, he wanted a normal job so badly, and while a sex shop wasn't quite normal it was at least legitimate, and this one was nice and clean and friendly, but if they were going to want details... "Yeah, I worked at a drugstore in the mall back home." That was also mostly-true, because it was almost two years ago and he'd only worked there a month. "Huh. Well, look, you're the first person who's come in about the job, and you know you haven't asked anything about it?" The guy smiled. Jay liked him more now than he had when he was talking about paddles and cuffs and whether or not Jay was a top. "Oh, um, sorry, what is it? I mean, um, what are the hours? Is it just, like, working the register? And, and how much does it pay?" "Probably about thirty hours a week, maybe more. The gal who's leaving worked twentyeight hours but we need more help than that. You get training so you're familiar with everything we sell, although your personal experience is the best. We get people who've never been in an adult shop before and don't even know what they're doing here, some of 'em, so you gotta be able to help them find something they'll like that's not intimidating. We don't wanna scare anyone off. You might have to work nights a lot. We're open until eight on weeknights and ten Friday and Saturday. Sound good so far?" Jay nodded. "What's it pay?" "Open to discussion. Lemme get a... uh... shit." The guy disappeared behind the counter and then reappeared holding a job application. "Fill this out and come back day after tomorrow, you can meet some of the other employees and we can talk about it a little more. I'm pretty sure I'll still be looking for someone. Think of some good questions for me, kid. That's your job-hunting tip for the day." He winked. "Okay," Jay said, "thanks." "Oh, and kid?" "Yeah?" "We're gonna ask you about toys and stuff. We're gonna want opinions. You can't work here and be embarrassed, but we're not asking because we're perverts. Just so you know. Okay?"

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"Yeah, okay, thanks. Bye." Jay folded the application and put it in his pocket and suddenly the day wasn't so bad. But Jay didn't really like staying at the Y, and if pressed Simon admitted he didn't either. It certainly wasn't the worst place either of them had ever been - it felt safer and was a little more private than the runaway shelter where Jay stayed when he left home, and Simon, at various times in his life, had slept on couches, on floors, and on the street. Unlike their old place the shower actually worked and the walls weren't thin as paper. It wasn't theirs, though, and they were both too used to having their own space, an apartment with a kitchen and a living room and a couch where they could watch TV or a movie or make out like horny teenagers. A place where they could fuck on the floor, or against the kitchen counter, without worrying about being interrupted. Simon looked for an apartment while Jay looked for a job, and then the Pleasure Principle offered Jay work, and he took it. It was only part-time, but could conceivably go full-time, and okay, it was a sex shop, which wasn't far enough removed from the things he used to do, but aside from the month he'd spent working in a drugstore when he was sixteen, it was the first long-term legitimate job he'd ever had, which meant he could go to work without worrying about being busted by the cops or beaten up by another rent boy or a john, and besides, he told Simon shyly, blushing, he had to know about everything in the store, which meant he could test-drive a lot of the toys, and he got an employee discount. To celebrate, Simon took him out for dinner, which was pizza because they were low on money, and then to Jay's great surprise he picked up a six-pack of Newcastle Brown Ale and a six-pack of Woodpecker cider from a nearby liquor store, and took the booze and Jay down to Baker Beach, where they sat on the sand and drank and watched the lights across the Bay, and they talked. They didn't talk about much, or about much that seemed important. After three bottles of cider Jay was tired enough to put his head on Simon's shoulder and doze off while Simon was in the middle of some random, rambling story about Greece. A lot of Simon's stories rambled like that. Jay thought Simon's voice was very soothing, and especially after a few bottles of cider and half a sausage pizza, it could put him right to sleep. He wasn't fully asleep, though, so when Simon lay down on the sand Jay managed to stop himself from falling over. Jay lay next to him and put his head on Simon's chest. It was cold on the beach, and Simon was warm. "Congratulations," Simon said after a while. "For what?" Jay mumbled. "Gettin' a real job. You'll be okay."

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"Yeah. Kinda cold out here." Simon shifted a little under Jay's head, then put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer. Jay grinned against Simon's jacket. "That's nice." Simon wrapped both arms around him now and they snuggled together, and for a little while they just lay there, listening to the waves and the wind and the hum of the city. "Simon," Jay said.

"Right here."

"I. Um."

"What?"

"Thanks."

"For...?"

"Dunno. Being here. Coming with me. Staying with me. It's, it's easier. With you. I couldn't, I

couldn't leave otherwise, I'd still be there, I'd still be... you know." Jay rolled over on top of Simon, pushed his hands into the sand on either side of Simon's shoulders, propped himself up, and looked down. There was enough light to see Simon's expression - he was smiling a little, he looked amused. "You reckon?" Simon asked. "Yeah. I think - didn't I tell you? I feel like I've said it a bunch of times. You saved my life. I think, I think - I know - I'd be dead by now. Without you. I'd. Um. Yeah." Jay dipped his head, suddenly shy, and a little embarrassed at how stupid that must sound. Simon's hands on his hips holding him gently made him raise his head and look down, and Simon wasn't smiling anymore, looking very serious. "Never told me that."

"I thought I did. Maybe... because I thought it, I told myself, so I figured I must've told you.

It's true."

"C'mere." Simon pulled him down, pulled his face close, kissed him gently at first, and then harder, lips and tongue hot and hungry and tasting of beer and sausage and oregano. Simon's hands cupped his ass, then one leg hooked behind Jay's knee, and Simon murmured into his mouth, something Jay couldn't understand. "What?" he asked, breathless now and wide awake.

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"Saved me, too. Jay. Listen." Simon touched him, hands on either side of his face, pushing his head up, blue eyes dark and intent. "I've done things I'm not proud of. Done a lot of stupid shit, a lot of things I'd change. Told people off, ripped people off, been left, done the leaving. Someday... someday I'll tell you, if you want. I'm a hard bastard, me." Jay shook his head, started to argue, but Simon went on. "Just listen, yeah? This isn't easy. I know there's not a lot of good in the world. Seen it. Caused it. Knew someday I'd hurt you, 'cause it's what I do. It's what people do, fuck each other over." "I don't," Jay said softly. "I know. And I can't. Can't do that. Not to you. Not anymore." Jay waited for Simon to say something else, and when he didn't Jay tried to lean down and kiss him again. But Simon's hands were strong, and keeping Jay's head up. "What?" Jay said. "Scariest thing ever happened to me was you getting hurt," Simon said, and Jay winced. He didn't want to remember that. "I lived in Marseilles about a year, yeah? Dealt heroin. Shot heroin. Sold myself. Almost got caught. Scary shit, okay?" Jay nodded, as best he could with Simon's fingers digging into his skull. "But you, you scared me more. I couldn't... I couldn't do anything, and I couldn't think what I'd do without you. Lost someone I loved once," Simon practically whispered. "Almost killed me. Can't do that again." "What, what do you mean?" Jay thought he knew - he'd gotten used to deciphering Simon, had learned how to interpret what was really going on - but he wanted Simon to say it. But Simon didn't. Those blue, blue eyes, dark now and fixed on Jay's face, so intense Jay didn't think Simon had blinked at all in the past fifteen minutes, those blue eyes searched his, bored into his head as if Simon could read all his thoughts like words on paper. "Simon? Say something?" Jay's heart was racing. He was freezing cold now, a breeze off the water goose pimpling his skin inside his army jacket, and thank God for Simon's body under his and Simon's hands on his face, or he'd be ice all over. Simon looked a little puzzled. "Must be the beer," he murmured. "What?" "The beer. Makes me chatty. You wanna know, I'll tell you anything. Tell you I love you." Jay blinked. "You... you what? Say that again." "I love you. Couldn't just say it. Probably won't again. But Jay, baby, I came with you because I can't leave you and I won't have you leave me. You gotta hold the good things when you find 'em, yeah? Reckon you know that, even though you're sticking to me. I'm not

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a good person, Jay. Never have been. Don't argue, you don't know. But I'm trying. I couldn't hold Greece. I couldn't hold Maria. I'm gonna hold you, because..." Simon stopped, swallowed. Jay waited. "You keep me going. You keep me alive." Simon was quiet the whole way back to the Y. Jay held his hand and leaned on his shoulder while Simon stared out the window of the bus, and they walked from their stop to the building and up to their room in complete silence. Jay didn't know what to say - "I love you, too" was the most logical, but Jay'd said it before, although not recently because of Simon's tendency to laugh - so he didn't say anything. They got undressed, got in bed, lay there staring at each other. Everything was suddenly very serious and solemn to Jay, and their silence seemed sacred. And then Simon reached for him, and the silence broke but the spell remained intact, and Jay was too afraid to speak in case that broke, too. It felt different this time. Simon took control, more like usual, licking and stroking and sucking and murmuring against Jay's skin, telling him how good he tasted, how good he felt, how beautiful he was. Jay moaned softly, his back arching under Simon's hands and Simon's mouth, his cock filling and his toes curling. "Simon," he whispered, "please..." Simon grabbed the lube off the nightstand, squirted it on his palm, slicked up his hand and his prick. He teased Jay with wet fingers, pressing and stretching and making Jay squirm, making him moan. Simon kissed him on the mouth, a long, sensuous, probing kiss that made Jay push down against his hand and reach for Jay's own slippery cock. "No," Simon told him, voice husky and deep, as he pried Jay's hand off. "Let me do it, Jay. Let me love you." Jay whimpered but smiled, nodding. Simon played with Jay a little longer, fingers stroking inside his ass, teeth nibbling his lower lip, tongue sweeping his mouth. Then Simon draped Jay's long legs over his shoulders and slowly, slowly eased himself in. He put all his weight on his arms, leaning down for more kissing and nibbling, and pumped in and out with a slow, steady rhythm, taking his time, making it last. Jay tried to take himself in hand but Simon wouldn't let him. The friction between them as they rocked together made Jay shiver and made his balls ache, and he couldn't imagine he'd ever love anyone, or be loved by anyone, like he loved Simon. His eyes closed, his hands reached up blindly to stroke Simon's face, his arms, his back, his ass, everywhere. "So good," Simon murmured into his mouth. "Christ, Jay, you feel so good, so tight..." "Faster," Jay gasped. "Please..."

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"Wanna make it last. Wanna feel you... around me... as long as I can. Wanna watch you." "Okay, okay, but... please... touch me? I, I want you..." Simon shifted above him, inside him, leaned on one elbow and with the other hand stroked Jay's throbbing cock. "Better?" "Ohh... yeah..." "Open your eyes, luv, look at me." Jay did, focusing on Simon's face hanging over his, blue eyes and tanned skin and a faint glint off the bar in one eyebrow. Simon was smiling almost distractedly, like all of his attention was elsewhere, then his hips started to thrust a little faster, the ring in his cock pressing against all the right spots, and Jay gasped and moaned, hips canting up and bumping against Simon's balls, and neither of them had breath for words anymore. They rocked faster now, Simon thrusting and groaning and Jay holding on for dear life. The bed knocked against the wall with the force of Simon's pounding. Jay needed to come, too badly to wait for Simon to do it, so he wrapped trembling, sweaty fingers around the hand gripping his cock and they pumped together. "Simon," Jay choked out, a nearly breathless gasp, "I'm gonna - " He shuddered and jerked and clamped tight around Simon's cock and climaxed in great heaving bursts, and before he even finished Simon froze for a brief second and then was shaking and crying his name as Simon came. Simon collapsed on top of him and for a few minutes they just lay there catching their breath, arms around each other, Simon gradually growing softer, until Simon had the strength to pull out and flop over on the bed, turning on one side, laying a hand on Jay's sweaty, flushed cheek. Simon's eyes were bright, the look searching, and Jay loved him so much he couldn't breathe. He wanted Simon to say it again - Tell you I love you - but Simon didn't seem to want to say anything. They snuggled close under the blankets, both a little sticky and damp but not really caring. Simon brushed Jay's hair back off his forehead and ran a finger across the scar. Jay shivered involuntarily. "Saved you from that," Simon murmured. "Got out before it ate you alive. I know what it did to you. I'm sorry." "Why?"

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Simon shrugged. "Just am." He tilted Jay's head up. His eyes were unnaturally bright. "Simon..." "Yeah." "You're, you're not... Is something wrong?" "No, everything's good." Simon smiled, brushed his lips across Jay's in a ghost of a kiss. "Got everything I want. Don't let it get around, yeah?" "Yeah. I shouldn't've stopped telling you how much I love you." "Nah, it's okay. I knew. Transparent like glass, you are." "I guess." Another brief kiss and they pressed close together, arms and legs wrapped around each other, skin to skin and breath to breath, and Simon's voice whispering his love in the dark. *** Simon found a place for them to live, a nice place even though they had to share it with three other guys – Mike and Mike, who worked in a gym together and actually owned the apartment, and Devon, who was a grad student in cultural studies and queer theory. Simon hunted up his own ways of making money, which weren’t too different from the things he’d done in L.A., except he made an honest effort to get off the street. They started to learn their way around, how to get from place to place, what to do and where, who had good coffee and where could they find decent clothes. And Simon went dancing, and in his exuberance and the joy of being somewhere new, he made Jay go with him. Jay didn't go dancing with Simon all that often for one very simple reason - he didn't dance. Rather, he didn't dance in public, because it made him self-conscious. He didn't have the right clothes, he didn't really like a lot of the music, and he could watch Simon any time. But sometimes Simon could convince him, so here they were in some club with a balcony and an energetic DJ and Simon hadn't even bothered to get a drink and at least keep Jay company for five minutes before he was gone into the crowd on the dance floor. The place had a liberal dress policy, for which Jay was grateful, because it meant he could wear jeans, and if nothing else it provided a lot of eye candy. There were a lot of pretty girls and boys, packed tight and having a good time.

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But there was no one like Simon, who wore black vinyl pants, slick and reflective, a tight black T-shirt, and a collar with a ring, which he'd gotten at the sex shop with Jay's employee discount. Simon certainly wasn't the only boy here wearing vinyl, or the only one in a collar, and Jay would hazard a guess there were other guys with equally interesting piercings. But his was the only Simon, the only person in the city - the only person on the whole coast who Jay wanted. And Jay loved to watch Simon move. Simon had rhythm and grace and power, on the dance floor as well as in bed, and he moved not just with the music, but inside it. When Jay couldn't see Simon from the bar anymore he got another screwdriver and went up to the balcony, which had tables and chairs and couches and a good view of the dance floor and the DJ booth. He drank his drink and leaned on the railing and tried to find Simon, and there was Simon dancing with a girl and a boy, and while it made Jay a little jealous to watch Simon move that way so close to someone else, it also made him hard. He shifted a bit, his jeans suddenly tight, and tried not to fondle himself. Simon had that kind of effect on him. A passing waiter asked if he wanted another drink, and he did. His mouth was dry, watching Simon dance to the techno thumping out of the club's impressive sound system. It made Jay wish he was more comfortable in crowds so he could be down there, too, moving in the heat Simon generated, close enough to stomp and sway with him. Jay watched for maybe an hour - more? less? He wasn't wearing a watch, he didn't know making his screwdriver last - it was his third already - chewing the ice in lieu of a cold shower. The music pounded through him, straight to his cock, and he was unconsciously rubbing against one of the poles of the railing when a husky unfamiliar voice said, "See something you like?" in his ear. "Uh-huh," Jay answered absently, although he couldn't see Simon anymore. "Me, too," said the voice, its tone unmistakably suggestive, and Jay turned his head to see who this was, and was the guy coming on to him? The guy's leer seemed to say he was. The guy looked like the Mikes - big and buff and shorthaired - and was wearing a sleeveless rubber shirt and rubber pants with what looked like a studded codpiece. Jay blinked. The screwdrivers must have slowed his thought processes and dampened his instincts, because normally he'd be running away right about now. The rubber guy's tone of voice, and the look in his eyes, were too scarily familiar, and if the next thing out of the guy's mouth was "How much?" Jay wouldn't have been surprised. As it was, all he could do was stammer "Oh, um, I was, I was watching my, um, my boyfriend." He blushed, embarrassed and nervous and what could he say to get rid of this person, and where was Simon?

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"Your boyfriend, huh?" the guy repeated, still with that look on his face. "Does he share?" "No, in fact, he doesn't," said a familiar English voice from behind Rubber Boy. "And even if he did, luv - " now Simon appeared in Jay's field of vision, looking the guy up and down speculatively " - you couldn't afford us." And before either Jay or the rubber guy could say a word, Simon had grabbed Jay's hand and dragged him away. "See his face?" Simon cackled, when they were out of earshot. "Fuckin' priceless. Christ, Jay, you can pick 'em." "I didn't - " "Oh, I know. Just joking, yeah? Come on." "Where are we going?" Simon was pulling him toward the stairs and then down to the main floor, and were they leaving already? "Men's room. Need a break." There were a couple of boys at the urinals and one standing in front of the mirror fixing his hair. Jay's brain finally caught on as Simon pushed him into a stall and locked it, and then every single thought in his head vanished, rushing south to his cock as Simon kissed him. Jesus, that was good. Simon's hands were tight on his ass and Simon's mouth was hot on his and Simon ground against him and Jay forgot where he was and groaned. "Oh, God," he gasped, "Simon, please, not - " "Shh," Simon whispered, pulling back and putting two fingers on Jay's lips. "Think you can be quiet for me?" Jay nodded, not at all sure that he could. Simon's neck and face were flushed and shiny with sweat, and his eyes were bright and hot. "Good boy." Simon’s fingers brushed down Jay's chin and throat and past his collarbone as Simon sank to his knees on the tile floor. Jay couldn't even protest at how public this was as Simon undid his belt buckle and his jeans, pushing them down over his hips and nuzzling his erection through his boxer shorts. "Simon," Jay hissed. That one word was somewhere between “please stop” and “please keep going”, and then Simon pushed Jay's boxers down and took Jay's painfully throbbing cock in his mouth and Jay just didn't care anymore. He bit his lip to keep from groaning out loud and dug his hands into Simon's sweat-damp hair to keep from falling as Simon's hot, talented mouth worked his prick, stopping once to lick and suck his balls. That was almost too much, and Jay's hands in Simon's hair tried to guide his head back. Simon took the hint, normally not willing to be directed. Simon swallowed Jay

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all the way down, throat muscles working as Jay's hips thrust in and out, fucking Simon's mouth, and Jay could almost cry with the effort of keeping quiet. It didn't actually take that long before he was humping frantically, head back, eyes closed; he almost bit through his lip as he came in a hot rush down Simon's throat. Simon stood up, kissed Jay soundly, and helped him put himself back together. "You taste good, luv," Simon said. "What you been drinking?" "Screwdrivers," Jay managed to answer. "Jesus." "Got nothing to do with it. Thirsty?" Jay nodded. "Let's get a drink, and then you'll dance with me, yeah? More fun when I got company." "But I like to watch you." "It ever occur to you, I wanna watch you, too?" Simon grinned and unlatched the stall door. The two guys who'd been standing at the urinals were gone, replaced by different guys, but the boy fixing his hair in the mirror was still there, staring at them wide-eyed. Jay was too caught in the afterglow to be embarrassed. Simon led him out of the men's room, through the crowds, and up to the bar, where he ordered a shot of tequila and a beer for himself and another screwdriver for Jay. This made four, Jay thought, a little giddy. They found an empty spot of wall to lean on while they drank. Jay caught his breath while Simon chattered away happily, rating the music and the DJ and the crowd and the cuteness of the bartenders, and making fun of the rubber guy who'd tried to pick Jay up. "Do I share," he snorted. "Not up to me, is it? Come on, Jay, time to dance." Jay had no time to protest before Simon dragged him away from the security of the wall and onto the dance floor. The DJ had hit a groove and the floor was packed, which meant the two of them had to stand really close together so as not to be separated. Not that Jay minded - the closer he was to Simon, the safer he felt. The better he felt. And he was feeling pretty damn good. Some sober part of his brain suggested it was the four screwdrivers, which had all been mixed fairly strong, and another slightly less sober part of his brain suggested it was the blow job in the bathroom, and to be totally honest Jay didn't care what it was, as long as it didn't stop. Everything was bright and sharply focused and the heavy bass pounded up from the floor straight through his balls, and he thought he might be grinning like a fool and he didn't care. Except he still couldn't dance. He even said so, yelling to be heard over the music.

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"Sure you can," Simon yelled back. "I know you can move, luv, I've felt you under me, inside me." A bright white grin, full of teeth, and Simon put both hands on Jay's hips to help him. "Follow me, yeah? Feel the music. Let it guide you; let it tell you what it wants. Trust it. Trust me." Simon bobbed his head in time to the beat. Jay mimicked him. "Got it?" Jay nodded. Simon added a hip sway, hands pushing Jay to follow. "Just let go, yeah? Let everything go. Just you and me and the song. No one else. Nothing else. Okay?" "Okay." Simon stepped in close, closer than before, and kissed Jay soundly before stepping back. "Ain't that hard, Jay baby. Dancing's easy. One of the few true things in this world." "Yeah. I get it." So they danced together a while, sometimes touching and sometimes not, stomping and swaying to the beat, and Jay let the music bring him into that space Simon inhabited, the bubble Simon carried around him that pushed you back when you got too close. Jay could feel the heat he'd imagined before, up in the balcony watching; now he was the one dancing inside Simon's charmed circle. Now he was the one people would watch enviously, wishing they could be down here, too, dancing where he danced, moving against this man who moved so well. It was enough to make Jay hard again. Well, Simon standing still was enough to make him hard, but wasn't alcohol supposed to dull your responses? It hadn't. A couple of times Jay faltered and almost stopped, caught by the expression on Simon's face, that pure, shining pleasure Jay saw so rarely. Even in the throes of orgasm, even then - that was nothing compared to this. Simon danced, eyes closed, dipping and gliding and swaying and turning in time, so far into the song he seemed unaware that there was a world outside him. Unaware even that Jay was watching. Then Simon's eyes opened, dark blue now and glittering, and he grinned. Jay grinned back. "Think I can't see you?" Simon asked, pitching his voice so Jay could hear over the pounding techno. "Too right. Can see you with my eyes closed, luv. Can always see you." "How do I look?" Jay teased. "Fucking edible. Could eat you with a spoon." Simon licked his lips suggestively. Jay's rhythm faltered. "Oh, don't let that stop you." Simon's hands were on his hips again, pulling him close and guiding him through the beat. "C'mere, Jay, move with me. Feel it?" Oh, shit, yes, Jay could feel it. It was hot and hard and rubbing against his thigh and if they hadn't been in the middle of a crowded dance floor Jay could have thrown Simon down and ripped off his shiny vinyl pants and fucked him until he passed out. "Don't," he mumbled. "Stop teasing me."

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"Not teasing, Jay. Just warming up. Come on." And for the second (third?) time that night Simon grabbed Jay's hand and hauled him away before Jay could say a word. And once again they ended up in the men's room, although this time it was strangely empty, and it was Jay's turn to pull Simon into a stall, kick the door closed, hold him tightly, and kiss him breathless. "How do you want me?" Simon murmured in his ear. "Want me in you? On you? Sitting? Standing? On my head?" While Simon talked those hands roamed southwards, one pushing between them and down inside Jay's belt, the other cupping his ass. Jay hitched a breath, unconsciously grinding against Simon's hip. "Tell me what you want, Jay baby. Tell me how you want me." "I don't care, I don't care," Jay panted. He really didn't. He'd take a hand job right now, Simon's warm sweaty palm and knowing fingers stroking him off. He'd go with that. "Just, just, don't stop, don't let go of me." "Not an answer." Simon's hand on his ass held them so close Jay could feel Simon's heartbeat through both their shirts. "Want a clue?" Jay could only nod. Simon tipped down so that hot mouth was right against Jay's ear, breath tickling inside his head. "Wanna ride you, luv. Wanna straddle you and watch your face when you come. Wanna see." "Okay. Okay. Jesus, Simon, just, now, do it now, I want it, God, I want you, so bad, so much - " Simon cut off Jay's babble with a kiss, as hot and hard as Jay's cock in Simon's hand, as Simon's cock against Jay's thigh. Simon's mouth tried to devour Jay whole as those hands worked Jay's belt open, undid his jeans, pushed them down, pushed his boxers after. Jay groaned in relief as Simon freed his cock and pumped it lightly. Then Simon touched Jay's shoulders and pushed him down on the toilet seat. Jay blinked. "Trust me," Simon said. "Sit tight." Jay blinked again, stupidly, caught off-guard and not too happy. Simon put a finger to his lips - Shh - stuck his head out the stall, then disappeared. Jay bit his lip and stroked his trembling erection, because he was hard and he was ready and someone had to touch him, and if Simon was going to vanish he'd just have to do it himself. Then Simon came back, his hands cupped around an iridescent, shiny mess. "Needed something slick," he explained. He pried Jay's fingers off with one hand, and with the other slathered the goop on. It was a little chilly and a lot slippery, and felt like... "Soap?" Jay said. "Liquid soap?" "Right in one." Simon grinned and propped one booted foot against the wall by Jay's shoulder. He leaned in, started to untie his boot, and whispered, "Touch yourself for me, luv. Go on. Said I wanted to watch, didn't I?" Simon's grin was white and his face was close, and Jay leaned forward to kiss him but Simon leaned back. "Ignore me. Pretend I'm not here. No one's here but you."

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"Okay..." Jay wasn't sure he could do that - he could feel Simon's breath on his face, could smell him - but he closed his eyes, wrapped a shaky, sweaty hand around his soapy cock, and pulled slowly. Oh, God. That was better. He needed it, needed the friction and the tight grip and his hips pushed up into his fingers and he bit his lip to keep from moaning because he could feel the cold porcelain under his butt and he remembered, they were in a public bathroom, and he had to be quiet for Simon. "Make it last," Simon whispered. "Can't come yet." "I gotta," Jay whispered back. "Too close... I want you, Simon, please, wanna fuck you, need you, need you now, I always, always - " His eyes opened, managed to focus, and Simon was standing over him, vinyl pants pushed down, one leg free. So that's why Simon had one foot on the wall, Jay thought dimly. Wanted to take those pants off. "Shh. Quiet, okay? For me." Jay nodded, still fisting his cock. Simon covered his hand, rubbed with him enough to get his own fingers slippery, then pulled his hand away, and - his eyes dark and hot on Jay's face - pushed two fingers inside himself, slicking and preparing before pulling Jay's hand away and sinking down onto Jay's cock. Jay sighed and moaned softly, unable to help himself, as Simon rocked against him, leaned forward and unbuttoned Jay's shirt, pushed it out of the way, bending to tongue Jay's nipple. Jay was torn between stroking Simon's cock and burying hands in Simon's hair and holding it there against his chest. He settled for holding Simon's hips and trying to pull him down, trying to push himself farther in. "Ohh," he hissed. "Oh, oh, God, oh, fuck, like, like that, please, don't stop, don't - harder, Simon, please, please - " Simon murmured against his skin, moved to play with Jay's other nipple. Jay's back arched and he thrust up, into the heat and the closeness and the welcoming, beckoning dark. "Right," Simon murmured, sitting up, and putting one hand on Jay's shoulder and the other on the long cock, now lying hot and heavy and trailing damp against Jay's belly. Muscles clenched around Jay's prick, and Jay sucked air, felt his orgasm building in the back of his skull. It was hot and bright, like fire, and it buzzed like a hive of bees. He couldn't tear his eyes from Simon's face, could only guess from the motions against his belly and thighs that Simon had taken his own cock in hand and was pulling along with Jay's thrusts. The angle wasn't great and Jay felt himself slipping, but he couldn't stop. His hands moved, dug into Simon's ass as his head fell back and he stared at the ceiling, dimly aware there was a ceiling but not actually focusing on it, and "Look at me," Simon said, grabbing Jay's chin and pulling his head forward. "Wanna see you."

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"I can't, can't - I can't hold it, Simon, I'm gonna come, I gotta, I, oh - oh - Jesus Christ - " Simon's hand on his face anchored him as he bucked up, driving himself as far inside as he could and then farther still, and Simon must have known something - Of course, he can see it in my face, why he wants to watch me - because Simon squeezed and grinned and the light exploded in Jay's head and he bit his tongue to keep from screaming as he trembled and froze and then he was climaxing, humping frantically, and all he could see was Simon's face, his eyes dark as midnight and hot and bright, his wide white smile, his skin sweaty and flushed, and for one startlingly clear moment the world held its breath. Then Jay came back to himself, and the world resumed its turning, and Simon was still there, sitting astride him, stroking his cheek, smiling at him. "Lovely," Simon murmured. Jay could hear Simon's voice now through the buzzing in his ears. "So beautiful, Jay, so fucking perfect." "Jesus," was all Jay could think of to say. "My turn now." Simon leaned forward, caught Jay open-mouthed, sucked on his lip and pulled one of his hands around and between them. "Hold me, here," Simon rasped into Jay's mouth. "Hard and fast. Make me come." Jay obediently wrapped his hand around Simon's hungry flesh and started a fast, hard rhythm. He could feel the bass from the dance floor throbbing all through him, down his arm to Simon's cock, leading him as he stroked. Simon's hand was on the back of his skull now, holding their faces together, and Simon's tongue fucked his mouth as Simon's prick fucked his hand, and Jay wasn't sure, but he thought he might still be hard. There was no rhythm to their kissing, and it didn't take long before Simon was gasping and shaking and shooting between Jay's fingers. Jay swallowed Simon's cries, then wrapped both arms around Simon and held him close. With his head on Simon's shoulder, Jay could hear Simon's heart racing. "You don't know," he whispered, "you don't, you can't, you can't understand how much - " "I know," Simon said softly. "I do." He stroked Jay's hair. "You daft boy, why do you think I always give you what you want?" Jay shrugged. "You just don't know you want it. Come on, let's get you cleaned up." Simon pulled away, climbed off, unrolled half the toilet paper and wiped Jay clean. "So beautiful," Simon said again, as his hand ghosted over Jay's now-limp cock and its nest of curly brown hairs, and then he took Jay's hand and pulled him unresisting to his feet. "You always say that. I'm really - you think I'm beautiful?" "I think a lot of things, luv." Simon tucked Jay back into his jeans, buckled them up, stuffed himself back into his own pants, and shoved his boot back on. "Think I could use another drink. Think you could, too."

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"That's five." Jay giggled. He was giddy and sated and exhausted and swayed gently as Simon buttoned up his shirt. Well, actually, it was Simon's shirt, the vintage bowling shirt with the flames on it, and the screwdrivers were rushing back into Jay's head with a vengeance now that he wasn't so preoccupied with fucking his boyfriend. Oh, God, he was drunk now. One good shag in the men's room and he was plastered. How did that happen? "I love you, Simon," Jay said. "You make me dance when I can't, and you drag me into bathrooms and go down on me, and then you let me fuck you on the toilet, and, and I forget I hate doing it in public, and I don't know, but all these things I hate, and I'm scared of, it's okay. Because it's you. You know? I mean, I don't know what I mean, but I wanted you so bad, watching you dance, before, when I was up on the balcony, and then just now, when you made me go out there and dance with you, and it's like you always know, and - " "Jay." Simon put a hand over Jay's mouth to shut him up. "Hush." Simon grinned. "I don't care. I don't care. I love you and I don't care." It hadn't quite escaped his notice that they were still in the men's room, and although the stall door was locked, if anyone else was there, they could hear. "I love you because... um... because you fuck like, like, I don't know. You make me wanna stand here and tell you silly shit." It finally dawned on Jay how stupid he probably sounded, and he blushed and grinned and felt like an idiot. "I love the silly shit. Now come on, we gotta dance some more, if this is what it does to you. Can't wait to get you home now. Might even attack you on the bus." Simon grinned his best lascivious grin, and Jay grinned back, and Simon unlocked the stall door and they went out into the men's room proper, where a boy with wild black hair had another boy pinned to the wall, both of them kissing and groping and humping desperately. Jay and Simon looked at the boys, then looked at each other, and then they both laughed. *** And then there were unpleasant days, and days like these Simon thought about Greece. It was raining and cold and he was running a fever, and watching some TV documentary on firefighters in Colorado wasn't making him any warmer. He was curled up on the couch wearing an old fisherman's sweater and Jay's army jacket - lying in his own home sniffling and sneezing and wrapped in a fucking coat, and that was so many shades of wrong he couldn't count them. So he thought about Greece, the sun and the sky and the ink-black spill of the sea at night. He missed sitting on the sand getting smashed on cheap ouzo. He missed climbing around the ruins of temples and buildings so wrecked as to be unidentifiable. He missed being warm and he missed being tan and damn it, he missed the beach.

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What the hell possessed him to leave sunny, shiny So-Cal? Admittedly, he was doing okay here - making contacts, making money, dancing, being flogged - most times he was wellfucked and happy - and yeah, they had to share the flat, but the Mikes weren't bad as flatmates went and they never saw Devon anyway. But he was cold, and he was damp, and right now he didn't have the energy to haul his tight little arse into the kitchen and make some tea. The phone rang and he reached around to answer it.

"Yeah," he croaked. He sounded like a frog. Christ.

"You sound terrible," Jay said. "How do you feel?"

"Crap. Come home and warm me up."

"Okay. Hold on." A pause while Jay called out something and someone called back. "Barry

says I can leave, and I should bring you some chicken soup. I'll be home in, like, half an hour

or forty minutes, okay?"

"Yeah. Bring me some cucumber and tomato, I miss Greece."

"Okay. Bye."

There was his answer, at least as to why he'd left sunny, shiny So-Cal - because Jay asked

him to, and because even though he'd only admitted it once and wasn't likely to do so again,

Simon loved him.

*** Jay had to go three blocks past the bus stop before he found a corner market with nicelooking tomatoes and decent sized cucumbers. They didn't have any feta cheese or chicken soup, though, and he wanted to get home, so he went back to wait for the bus instead of

looking some more.

He wasn't surprised to find Simon sacked out on the couch, but he was surprised to find

Simon sacked out on the couch wearing his army jacket. No, huddled inside his army jacket.

Weird.

"I brought you cucumbers and tomatoes," he said. "Why are you wearing my jacket?"

"'M fucking cold," Simon complained, sounding worse in person than he had on the phone.

"Are you hungry? I'm sorry I couldn't find any chicken soup."

"Not hungry." Simon sneezed into the arm of the jacket.

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"Hey! Don't wipe your nose on my coat! Use a Kleenex!" "Did." Simon pointed to the wadded-up tissues littering the floor and the coffee table. "Oh. Ew. Oh, oh, wait, I have an idea." Jay took his veggies into the kitchen and stuffed them in the fridge, then went back to his and Simon's bedroom and dragged the blanket off the bed and into the living room, where after a brief struggle he got Simon out of his army jacket and wrapped in the blanket. "Better, huh?" "Yeah." Simon snuggled up against him. "Ah, you're warm." "You're just cold." A little wriggling and shifting and then Simon lay back on the couch with Jay on top. "Even better? I'm not too heavy, am I?" "Nah." Simon grinned sleepily, extricating a hand to reach up to brush Jay's hair out of his eyes. "You're good." "I know another way we can warm you up." Lying on top of Simon like this made Jay hard and he rubbed slowly against the body under him, just enough to get a little friction on his cock through his jeans. "You wanna shag a germ factory?" Simon's grin widened. "'M too fucking tired." Now Simon laughed, although it sounded more like a croak. "I gotta be sick, telling you no. Maybe later, yeah?" "Yeah." Jay bent his head, brushed his lips across Simon's. It was intended as just a brief kiss, no more than a feather touch, but Simon's mouth opened to his and Jay's tongue snaked out, tasting and probing. Simon's hand on the back of Jay's neck kept his head down, and the kiss grew deeper, more intense, more serious, and Jay was definitely hard, definitely wanted Simon, germs and all. Then Simon pushed his head back, said, "Don't want you coming down sick, too," and Jay had to nod, because that made sense. He scooted down a little so Simon wasn't breathing in his face. "Tell me if I get too heavy or you wanna go lie down on the bed or something, okay? And I'll get off." "No, stay there. I'm not so cold now. Gonna have a nap, I think. I'll eat your tomatoes later, yeah? Thanks." "No problem." Jay reached for the TV remote, flipped channels until something reasonably entertaining came on. He turned away from the TV to ask Simon what had been on before, but Simon was asleep. Jay grinned. He loved watching Simon sleep - it made him feel safe, and also protective. Simon took care of him so much, it was only fair that Jay take over sometimes.

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Chapter Six Now that he had a place to live and ways to make money and places to dance, Simon could look for the only thing he really missed about L.A., besides the beach – somewhere to bleed. He asked around and found Dove the way he found most boys like Dove, word of mouth and good timing. He'd heard about the club Not a Nice Place and one Saturday night took a bus out to the little city of Santa Clara to see it. Dove was there, spotlit and beautiful, flogging some guy like he'd been doing it his entire life. Simon couldn't get a clear picture of the kid's face, but his body was still young, despite the tats and nipple rings - he didn't look quite old enough to be as good as he was. (But then, people had said that about Simon. He was pierced and had reckoned himself hard at seventeen, but it was only the look in his eyes that made people think he was older.) Something about Dove reminded Simon of himself. Maybe it was the way the kid moved, or the near whiteness of his hair, or his hardness, the way he seemed all business but was obviously getting off on flogging the man tied up under the lights. Whatever it was, Simon wanted it. Wanted Dove to make him scream, make him bleed. Wanted to feel the boy's expert arm whipping him out of himself until he came. Watching didn't really turn Simon on. He'd rather be watched. But it still made him hard to see the blond boy laying on the crop, dancing around the victim, striping patterns on the man's skin. Simon imagined himself tied up in front of this audience, imagined those eyes on him and the crop on his ass, imagined red welts opening on his skin, imagined Dove pounding inside him, imagined himself shooting until there was nothing left. Two weeks later Simon went back, this time with his own name on Dove's list, to be flogged for a room of strangers. He did this for money at the Dungeon North, let himself be abused for paying customers, and he'd done it occasionally at the Dungeon South, but sometimes - as with everything else - he wanted it for his own pleasure. When Simon told the whipping master he wanted Dove the man looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow. "You sure? He doesn't have his... calming influence with him tonight and it could get pretty intense." The master gestured with his arm toward the bar and Simon could see long white hair shimmering. Then he realized that Dove's hair was shimmering because the boy was sitting on some guy's lap, getting stroked off, just starting to shudder a little. "Didn't expect the soft touch," Simon said, his eyes on Dove. Stop the boy now, before his release, and he'd still have an edge. The whipping master went to get Dove and Simon watched as the boy eventually stood up. He didn't look too happy; he looked horny and hungry and ready to play though, and that was what Simon wanted.

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Simon was taken to the stage and after a brief consultation with the master and someone else wearing a lot of leather, he stripped down and was bound. His arms were pulled out to the side, but not raised above his head; he braced his legs where he wanted them and they were chained there for him, leather knotted around his ankles and then to links of steel that were pulled taut. He had his balance, but he knew the restraints would take his weight when they had to. Simon was ready. He couldn't see outside the circle of light he was in, but he could hear the crowd, feel their eyes on him. He lifted his chin slightly, focusing on those unseen watchers, the corner of his mouth curving in a grin. His cock twitched. He licked his lips suggestively, tested his bonds, unconsciously played to the audience. He loved this, loved the way his skin tingled at the thought of people watching him, waiting for his reaction, getting off on what he did and said, how he moved (or didn't), how he looked. Made it sweeter, made the explosion brighter. Dove stepped into the light, right in front of him. The kid had stripped to the waist and the braids in his hair had been tightened to keep it out of his face. His eyes were hard; blue and cold. His face was all fine lines and edges - if he'd been a girl he would have been delicate. As it was he looked dangerous. "Hello. My name is Dove and I am going to hurt you. Very much." Simon grinned wolfishly. "My name is Simon and I reckon you will." The kid smiled back at him, though it didn't seem to reach his eyes. "Well, Simon," Dove said, voice low and smooth, almost seductive, "what shall we play with tonight? Whip, crop or cat?" "Feel like a good flog, luv. Cat." Dove stepped away from him for a moment and then was back, holding a lovely cat with long leather tails, each one knotted at the end. Dove held it gently, running it over both hands, and Simon swore the kid actually shuddered. "Do you want to bleed?" Dove sounded almost eager, voice was still low, though. Simon just grinned. "Why do you think I'm here? Yeah, I wanna bleed." Simon didn't say that to everyone, but Dove looked like he knew how to make it good, how to make it worth Simon's time. And Dove sounded like he wanted to do it. Which as far as Simon was concerned was the most important thing. Dove stepped back a step and looked him up and down. Simon preened and Dove grinned a little. "You want to come for me, Simon?" The kid was almost purring, one hand on the crop

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and the other on that flat belly rubbing a slow circle. "Or do you have someone out there you’re saving it for?" Someone out there he was saving it for. He almost laughed. Jay would throw up at the very thought. "Wanna come for them." Simon nodded to the audience. "And for you." "Ah. It's all about the show. I get that." Dove stepped behind him and Simon turned to watch as the boy got a rubber and lube ready. "Any special requests before I get your safe word and we start to play? I don't usually let people ask for anything, but I think I like you. Anything you want?" "Just to make it good. Reckon you know what you're doing." Dove nodded. "I do. You are going to hurt so nicely..." The kid shook his head and stood straighter then, beckoning for the whipping master. When the man was there Dove said, "Safe word?" "Keener." Dove repeated it and the whipping master announced it to the room and faded away into the background. All that was left was Dove, the cat, and the people watching. Dove stood there a moment, obviously hard in his jeans, then licked his lips and nodded once, circling behind Simon. Dove's finger traced a line on Simon's back and Dove's voice came to Simon, almost a whisper. "Someone was very bad at this." The finger traced another line. "And someone else was very good. I'm better," Dove said, voice loud as he stepped away and then Simon felt the cat come down on his back, tiny sparks flaring on his skin. Simon jumped, because he always jumped the first time, and he cried out, because sometimes it helped. Dove was good, but it was too soon to tell if that was as good as he claimed. Dove didn't seem to have a set rhythm, which Simon liked. He liked not really knowing when the next blow would fall, and he liked the way Dove made the cat sing through the air. He could feel the lines on his back, could feel his skin getting tight. He could feel himself getting hard. He grinned his wide, white wolfish grin for the audience, for them and for Dove, even though Dove couldn't see him, and he grinned to himself, because he was getting exactly what he needed. Dove didn't stop. The cat danced up and down his back and over his ass and he could see Dove moving in and out of his range of vision, long hair swaying as Dove's arm raised and

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lowered. He couldn't hear anything but the cat and Dove and his own breath. A moan from the dark broke through and he grinned. Sometimes it was enough that you got off on it, and sometimes you needed to know you were turning someone else on. In those spare seconds between the sting of the knotted tails on his skin it crossed Simon's mind that he and Dove were both good at this - Dove at giving and Simon at receiving - and Dove was right. The kid was better. Simon wasn't sure exactly when the cat finally bit through his skin, finally broke the welts open, but as soon as he felt the blood warm and slick on his back his cock started to throb. He dropped his head down and started to lose himself in the sensations, the bite and sting of the cat and the flashes of Dove's body heat as the Dom moved around him. This was what Simon needed. The sound of the cat on his skin, the slow trails of blood running down his back, the feel of Dove dancing around him, the feel of eyes watching him, the pulse and throb of his heartbeat in his cock. There was nothing in the world except him and Dove and those knotted tails of leather, nothing but the sting and the pain and the building pleasure. He threw his head back, eyes closed, mouth open in a tortured grin, and he laughed, something between a laugh and a sob, because look at him, so desperate to feel something he had to pay this sharp pretty boy to whip him, and Christ it hurt, so much Simon didn't even have words for it. But he asked for it. He wanted it. In his own twisted way, he loved it and needed it. "Yes," he heard Dove whisper, and the cat cut him again and again and again, perfect and terrible and so fucking right. He ached. His skin was broken and bleeding and his arms were starting to hurt from the strain he was putting on them. His cock throbbed, his balls tight with the need to get off. Someone in the audience cried out. Simon didn't want to use his safe word - wasn't going to use it - but damn, he needed to come. It was time. He bled and he ached and he'd totally lost his own self, everything solid that made him who he was - he was nothing and no one, he was gone. For a brief second he missed Chet. Chet always knew when he was ready. Then Dove filled him and oh, fuck he didn't even know when the cat had stopped but it didn't matter. All that mattered was Dove, behind him, pounding into him with what felt like a thick steel rod. "Now," Dove said in his ear. "Come for them, Simon. Come on my cock."

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And Simon did. He had no breath left with which to howl, but he rasped out something, words, sounds, as Dove thrust into him and he shuddered and shot out toward the audience, head back, muscles clenching, shaking and sobbing with the sheer fucking pleasure of it. He thought he was going to shoot forever, Dove still moving in him, pegging his prostate, fingers digging into his hips. He whimpered when Dove froze deep inside him and came, hips jerking with his release. "Oh, fuck. Yeah," was all Dove said, but the kid took care to pull out gently, then held Simon up while the restraints were taken off. "You got anyone to take care of you?" Dove whispered in his ear. "Bandage you?" Simon could only manage a breathless laugh. "Here, you mean? No. My... my boy... won't come with... hates the blood, he does." Dove snorted softly in his ear and eased him to the floor out of the lights. "Yeah, I know how that feels. Let me know when you can walk and I'll take you to the back, get you cleaned up and bandaged." "Ta, luv." The kindness of strangers. How often did that happen? "Give me fifteen minutes." Oh, he felt good, drained and exhausted and Jay would have a panic attack when he got home, but fuck, he needed that. Not often Simon would admit to needing something from someone, but he'd really needed Dove's arm and his skill. They sat in silence for a few moments and then Dove shifted. Simon looked at him and laughed when the kid pulled his pants all the way up and tucked himself away. "No need to display it when I'm not using it," Dove said with a shrug. Then he sat down and pulled Simon closer, letting him rest on his arm and chest. "Needed that. You get the itch again, come back and ask for me. I'll treat you right." "Believe that," Simon said, feeling awkward and comforted at the same time. Dove smelled like sweat and skin and this was strange, resting against him, but it too was good. Simon was nodding off, he was so tired. Sometimes that happened. His back hurt but he knew it would heal. He settled against Dove and closed his eyes. "Think it's about time for the clean-up and bandage, Dove. Falling asleep, here." "You got it." Dove helped him up and led him to a small room off a hallway at the back. His clothes were there on a cot covered with a white sheet and on the counter was a well stocked

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first aid kit. Dove had him sit down, leaning over the back of a chair, and then set to washing his back. Dove didn't talk while he cleaned Simon's wounds, didn't make any of those hissing noises that people make when cleaning cuts. He just washed and put antiseptic on Simon's back and fixed up a loose dressing. When he was done Simon was mostly asleep. "Get dressed, take a nap. Come back sometime, Simon." And then Dove was gone. Simon stretched out on his stomach on the cot (after first shoving his clothes onto the floor) and promptly fell asleep. His last conscious thought was, "Too bloody right I'll be back." He didn’t tell Jay, although he thought Jay had an idea where he’d been and what he’d done. But Jay was most likely too busy trying to have a normal life to think about it. *** They’d been in San Francisco two months and it was Halloween. Halloween was not Jay's favorite holiday. He liked the scary-creepy part, and he liked the candy, and he liked the little kids in costumes. He'd liked it when he was a kid, dressing up and going house to house for chocolate and peanut brittle and Sweet Tarts. He was always the kid in the back of the group, because even then he felt weird about going up to complete strangers and demanding things from them, but he liked trick-or-treating. He just didn't like it now. Something about giving people a license to hide their true selves made him nervous. It started last year, his last Halloween at home, when he'd heard sort of third-hand that he'd been marked for a beat-down by some of the jocks in his high school. Rumor had gone around that he was gay, and nice straight Christian boys and girls just didn't like that, especially nice straight Christian boys who'd shared the communal shower with Jay after gym. So he'd stayed home and handed out mini Almond Joys and Kit-Kats to neighborhood kids, knowing he'd never be able to hide outside and he'd never know who did it. His dad made fun of him. His sister made fun of him. His mom said nothing. He didn't care. Nine days later he took a bus away from that place, but he couldn't leave his paranoid distrust of people in costume. At work Barry had made everyone in the shop dress up, though, as opposites of their normal selves. Barry wore a blue banker suit and a conservative red tie and said he was a Republican. He even trimmed his beard. Beata went as Mrs. Cleaver in a dress and lipstick and high heels and a string of pearls, instead of her normal steel-toe boots and carpenter pants. Her girlfriend popped in and had a good laugh. Gerry, who was big and black with a buff black boyfriend and a quartet of little yippy dogs, also wore a conservative suit, but when asked just said he was "the whitest white man on earth - George W Bush," which was about the same as Barry dressing as a Republican.

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Jay dressed as a devil, in the tightest black T-shirt ever, borrowed from Simon, and equally tight red vinyl pants, borrowed from Devon's boyfriend, of all people, who was Jay's height and about his size, and had never met Jay or Simon but had heard about them from Devon, and wanted to help out. Jay thought that was almost suspiciously nice. Devon and Simon both told him to shut up and put the pants on. Beata had glued little red horns on his head and had pinned a red forked tail to his red-vinylcovered ass, only sticking him twice. Gerry lined his eyes with eyeliner, which was unquestionably the weirdest thing Jay had ever worn on his face, along with black lipstick he managed to lick off after fifteen minutes. Gerry made him put more on. It was busy at the store - the late-night Halloween sale probably had something to do with it and by the time they closed at eleven Jay was wiped and wanted to go home, order pizza, and watch scary movies on TV. Instead Simon was coming to get him so they could go to some underground fetish party or something. Simon hadn't been too forthcoming with details. Jay was in the back of the store straightening up when Beata yelled, "Your boyfriend's here!" which made Jay blush, but he went up to the front and for a second thought he might pass out. He'd always thought Simon was hot, but this time... He was wearing his lace-up leather pants and, in lieu of a shirt, a strappy leather harnessy thing with buckles and D-rings that crisscrossed his chest, exposing his nipple ring and tantalizing slices of skin. Simon also wore his black leather collar with the ring in front, and he was carrying a leash. "Damn, boy," Beata said, admiring. Jay wasn't sure if she was talking to him or Simon. "That's almost good enough to make me straight." Simon grinned. "Jesus, Simon," Jay managed. "I. Um. Can we go home?" He had a sudden flush-inducing mental image of Simon bending him over the couch and fucking him hard enough to shake the entire building. Devon's boyfriend's vinyl pants were really tight now. "Got a party to sex up," Simon said. "Remember?" Still grinning, Simon looked wicked and sexy and Jay wanted to kiss him, wanted to touch him, wanted to go down on both knees right here in the store and suck him off. That grin was just not helping, and neither were Simon's cock and his Prince Albert, both clearly outlined through the leather. Jay swallowed. "Why do you have a leash?" he asked. "Oh, this, this is for you." Simon came forward and handed it to Jay. It was a basic pet leash, narrow black leather with a wrist loop at one end and a hook at the other. "Put it on me, yeah?"

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Jay blinked. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Beata grin like an idiot and then studiously wander off. Was she giving them some privacy? "Come on," Simon said. "Can't be your boy if you won't leash me good and proper, can I." "My, my what?" "Tonight, I'm your boy. Want everyone to know I belong to you." "But... But. That's weird. And, and it's wrong. You don't belong to anyone." "That what you think?" Simon leaned in and kissed him briefly. "Might be surprised to learn different." "Oh." "Yeah, 'oh'." Simon was still grinning his wide, white grin. Jay snapped the leash on the collar and just stood there with the narrow leather bunched in his fist, not sure what to do. "Well? Whatcha wanna do to me, Jay? I'm all yours." Jay blushed again, although he wasn't sure it wasn't related to his hard-on and the mental movies now showing in his head. Simon bent over, panting and gasping, Jay thrusting in and out of "Come on," Jay said hoarsely, turning and heading for the back of the store, the stockroom and office and the employees' bathroom. Simon followed, leaving just enough slack in the leash that Jay wouldn't strangle him. Jay thought Beata winked at him as he passed her, and then he and Simon went through the stockroom and into the bathroom. He kicked the bathroom door closed and locked it, then pushed Simon against the wall and kissed him, fierce and deep and hard enough to bruise both their lips. When they finally had to break for air Simon was laughing. Pale blue eyes glittered in the fluorescent light. "Knew you'd like that," Simon said. "Didn't know I was all yours, did ya? Thought I was for rent to anyone?" But the man was smiling. "No, I, I, I don't know what I thought." "Inside, Jay baby." Simon rested one hand flat on the leather strap half-covering his heart. "Where you can't see. That's yours." "Simon..." Jay had to kiss him again. They ground together pushed against the bathroom wall, leather against vinyl and leather against cotton; they moaned into each other's mouths, hands scrabbling over zippers and laces, fighting the clothes that separated them. Jay still had the end of Simon's leash wrapped around his hand.

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"Turn around," he rasped, having finally gotten Simon's leathers unlaced and shoved down lean hips, and having fought the zipper on Devon's boyfriend's vinyl pants and released his own erection. Neither of them was wearing underwear. That was smart, Jay thought dimly, as he almost unconsciously tugged on the leash and repeated his command. "Against the sink. Turn around." Simon did. "Knew you had a Dom in you," Simon said, grabbing the sides of the sink and wiggling that tight ass teasingly. Simon looked over his shoulder at Jay, and smirked. But Simon's chest was heaving, his cock was leaking, he'd said that breathlessly, and Jay knew that sometimes Simon wanted to be the one getting fucked. Which was okay, since sometimes Jay wanted to do the fucking. Like now. Maybe it was the collar and the leash. Maybe it was the devil horns. Maybe it was just that Simon was here and Simon was his, and Jay wanted him. Jay reached around and stroked Simon's cock, getting a moan, then leaned against Simon's back, prick hard and hot against Simon's bare ass, and reached around with both hands now to squirt them with the liquid soap sitting on the sink. "Clever boy," Simon murmured. "Slick and clean... Hold the leash, Jay, remind me who's boss. Give it good." Jay pulled on his own cock with both hands, soaping it up, then pushed two fingers inside Simon's waiting ass, stroking and stretching and listening as Simon gasped, and watching as Simon trembled and pushed back. "Bloody tease," Simon panted. "Taught you well, didn't I." "Learned from the best," Jay said distractedly. He pulled his fingers out, then grabbed Simon's hips and pushed himself in. Oh, Jesus, he thought, sweet holy hell... Simon was hot and tight and thrust back against Jay as Jay thrust forward, both of them rocking together, forward and back against the cold porcelain edge of the sink. Jay let go of Simon long enough to wrap the leash around his forearm; he brought it up experimentally and was surprised and gratified and unbearably aroused when Simon's back arched and Simon's head lifted. "Harder," Simon panted, "come on, I know... you can do... it... Fuck me... Jay... harder, harder..." Jay pulled on the leash again and was rewarded with a groan from deep within Simon's chest and a shove as Simon pushed back into him, trying to pull him deeper. Jay was balls-deep already, and short of climbing inside Simon's skin he couldn't get any closer. He leaned down, his T-shirted chest flat against Simon's leather-harnessed back, and stroked Simon's bare arms, biceps and forearms and the hands gripping the sink so hard Simon's knuckles were white.

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"Love you," Jay hissed in his ear. "So much, so much, God, Simon, you're mine, always, right here, even, even without the, the leash..." He bent his head, burying his face in Simon's neck as his hips snapped and he practically sobbed into Simon's skin as he came. Simon bucked underneath him, shook and threw back his head (or tried to) and cried out with his own climax. They stayed that way for a few minutes, breathing and coming back to themselves. Jay kept stroking Simon's arms and kissed his neck and the parts of his shoulders he could reach between the straps, all the time whispering half-words, half-wondering what had gotten into him but not really caring. "Thank you," he murmured into Simon's hair. "That was, um, that was, that was... wow." "Yeah," Simon said. "That's one word for it. Christ, Jay, but you're strong. Fucking hell." "Too strong?" "Nah, I like it hard. Wanna go to that party and show you off now. So proud of you." "Me? Why?" Simon's shoulders twitched underneath him in what might have been a shrug. "Because. Want everyone else to know, too." Simon laughed then, the movement making them both shake. Maybe they should disentangle and put their pants back on. "Got spunk on the pipes." "We got paper towels, we can clean it up." Jay stood and pulled out slowly, not wanting to lose this moment, then wiped himself off with the paper towels, tucked his shirt in, and zipped up his pants. "Nah, it's a sex shop, you'd expect it." "But it's a nice sex shop. Barry's gonna be pissed. I'll do it." "You're so considerate, luv," Simon said lightly. Simon looked at himself in the mirror, no doubt seeing the same flush on his cheeks and swollen lips that Jay saw, and grinned at his reflection. Light glinted off his eyebrow ring and sparked in his eyes. Jay kissed the back of his neck, then ripped off a wad of paper towels to wipe down the pipes under the sink. Simon laced up his pants. When they were both finished Jay took the leash and wrapped it around his wrist a few times. He looked at the skinny leather against his skin, then up at Simon. "I'm yours, too," he said. "I should be wearing this." "But everyone knows that. No one knows what I think."

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"And you think...?" "You know what I think." Simon kissed him, ten seconds of tasting and nipping at his lip, then pulled back and said, in a mock-pleading voice, "Come on, master, take me to this party, please? I'll be so good to you." "You are. Already. For a year, almost." Jay smiled at this man he loved, a shy little smile that said everything, and he was still smiling when they got out of the cab and walked into the warehouse where the party was, smiling with the leash around his wrist and Simon at the end of it.

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PART FOUR – LOST DAYS Chapter Seven Among Jay's many superstitions was the firm belief that when he was home late at night and Simon wasn't, if he didn't get in bed Simon would come back. He'd wait up and watch TV or read, occasionally fall asleep on the couch, and once he ended up talking to Devon for twenty minutes about Velvet Goldmine and David Bowie. Jay didn't know anything about Bowie in the Seventies, so it was kind of a one-sided conversation. One time Jay fell asleep reading at the kitchen table because the Mikes wanted to watch porn and he didn't. He had nothing against porn - he liked porn, he sold porn - but the thought of watching it with the Mikes, and the thought of the kind of porn they probably liked, wigged him out a little. They had a TV with a VCR in their room, so why they felt they had to watch in the living room was beyond him, but they asked if he wanted to join them and he said no and took his book into the kitchen, where he drank diet Coke and eventually nodded off. Simon was amused when he woke Jay up and Jay explained what he was doing sleeping on the kitchen table. He'd held to that when they were living in L.A., since that time Simon vanished for three days, and so far it hadn't failed him. Jay knew Simon thought it was a little endearing and a lot paranoid, and every time Simon came home and found Jay asleep on the couch, Simon woke him up by saying, "If you're gonna sleep you may as well sleep in the bed," and told Jay he'd just get muscle cramps and a stiff neck, and Jay replied that his neck wasn't what was stiff, which just made Simon laugh. Jay had a good idea where Simon was on those late nights, but he never asked and Simon never said. It was their own personal version of, "don't ask, don't tell." Simon had come home to him every night since they came up here, but at heart Jay was too paranoid and too scared and had too little faith in his ability to hold Simon's attention. Simon's words couldn't reassure him - even Simon's recent actions couldn't reassure him and all he could say in his own defense was, "I'm just really superstitious, okay?" He would not go to bed alone. It could be five in the morning, and if Simon wasn't back, Jay would be sacked out on the couch. As far as he was concerned it was working, so who was he to mess with it? And then one night it happened, and Simon didn't come home. Jay fell asleep in the middle of some sci-fi movie and was woken up by one of the Mikes during the morning news. "Don't sleep on the couch," Mike said. "You'll get muscle cramps and a stiff neck." Mike watched the news for a few more minutes and then went to start the coffee and make breakfast. Jay sat up, rubbed his eyes, stretched, yawned, and realized he was still on the sofa.

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"Did Simon ever come home?" he called out as he shuffled into his own room, trying to work the kinks out of his neck as he went. The bed hadn't been slept in. It took his brain about five seconds to work through the significance of that, and then he panicked. When there were other people around, Jay was a quiet panicker. He closed the bedroom door and sat on the bed and tried to hold himself together. Tried to think it through rationally. Tried to work out where Simon might be, and why. The end result was merely Simon's gone, he lied to me and he left running through Jay's head, close on the heels of Oh, shit, something happened to him, both of those things so loud and so persistent that Jay threw himself on the bed and put a pillow over his head to drown them out. This was completely insane, and more kinds of wrong than he could count. It had to be some kind of nightmare. Simon wouldn't leave him like that. He'd gotten a promise. Something had to have happened. Maybe Simon was just working really late, or he'd gone somewhere after work, and would be home soon. It was still early. Jay could be patient. He wouldn't panic. He went to the bathroom, peed, brushed his teeth, and then went back out to sit on the couch and watch the news for a bit, to wait for Simon to come home. The Mikes went to work. Devon shuffled out of his room, into the bathroom, and back to his room. Jay flipped channels restlessly. He went into the kitchen to see if there was any coffee left (there wasn't) and put a couple of Pop-Tarts in the toaster oven. He ate one, felt sick, and left the other one on a plate on the counter. Maybe he'd want it later. Simon still wasn't home. After about half an hour of being unable to concentrate on anything except Where is he? Why'd he leave? What happened? Jay remembered Simon's cell phone number, and called it. The voice mail picked up right away, which meant he'd probably turned it off, so Jay left a message - "Where are you? I'm freaking out. Did I do something? Please call home, okay?" His voice sounded shaky. That reminded him of something he could actually do - call places - and something kicked loose in his brain and Jay got out the phone book and went through it, methodically calling every hospital ER and clinic and every police station listed. Simon wasn't in any of those places, which was a relief and not. All it really meant was that Simon hadn't been picked up by city cops, but Simon could've gone to Marin, Oakland, Berkeley, San Jose even, and gotten busted for something there. Simon could still be hurt, just not at a hospital. Jay called the Dungeon North and got a recording, but that kind of made sense. They probably weren't open yet. He left a message there, too.

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He knew about some of the people Simon worked with, or wanted to work with - there was a photographer and a couple guys at some web site, and a club where Simon very sporadically got to dance - but Simon was very serious about keeping that stuff separate from the parts of his life he shared with Jay. All the phone numbers were programmed into Simon's cell, never the home phone, so no one ever called the apartment looking. Sometimes Jay felt better not knowing, but now it just pissed him off. He needed to know if anyone knew where Simon was, because he didn't, and it worried and scared him. Jay had decided he wanted the other Pop-Tart after all and was sitting at the kitchen table finishing it when Devon wandered out of his room and into the kitchen and said hi, and what was Jay doing home? "I'm not working today," Jay said. He licked his finger to pick up some stray Pop-Tart crumbs. "Simon didn't call last night, did he? He didn't come home and then leave again?" Devon shrugged. "He didn't come home." "He will eventually," Devon said. Jay shook his head and Devon asked, "What, he won't?" "No, he, he used to do this, disappear for, like, a day or two. I hated it. I still hate it. I gotta go." He stood up abruptly, put on his shoes, shrugged into his coat, and went out. He couldn't sit in the apartment. He couldn't call around and ask whoever answered the phone if they'd seen his boyfriend. He couldn't wait around for Simon to show up. He hadn't even changed his clothes since yesterday. He did what he'd done the last time Simon up and vanished - went to those places he thought Simon might have been, or places he thought Simon might appear, and rode the bus and the streetcars and walked up and down the sidewalks, a tall skinny kid in ratty jeans and a faded olive-green T-shirt, shoulders hunched under his Navy surplus peacoat, worried and nervous and scared and so jittery he couldn't sit still on the bus. Jay spent the rest of the day and a good chunk of evening walking around the city, making a circuit of places he and Simon had been. He had no idea where the Dungeon North was, but he went to dive bars and cheap restaurants and shops and clubs, and everywhere he went he described Simon and asked if he'd been in, and everyone shook their heads and said No, sorry, haven't seen him. Jay went into a couple of piercing parlors on a whim, but none of the piercers had seen Simon either. He called Simon's cell phone three more times and left three more messages on the voice mail. He skirted the streets and corners populated by pretty boys for rent. They reminded him too much of himself, and too much of the way things used to be. He could've asked them about Simon, and maybe they would have told him the truth, but just passing them from a distance made him feel sick. It hurt to think Simon could be out there with them, his pockets full of condoms, his smile a come-on and his eyes hard as glass.

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There was nothing in Jay's stomach except two frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts, but he ducked into an alley anyway and threw up behind a dumpster. He felt ridiculous and pathetic and helpless and cold, and for half a second he hated Simon with frightening, furious passion. Just as quickly it passed, and then Jay hated himself for his anger. He felt guilty for feeling pissed off. He had to go home. Simon wasn't home when he got back. Neither was Devon, and nor were the Mikes. Jay kicked off his shoes, threw his coat on the bed, and regained his spot on the couch. He called some hospitals again, and the Dungeon (which was open now) and a couple of police stations, but Simon hadn't been any of those places. He didn't know what else to do besides wait, and look again in the morning. He refused to let himself think that Simon had left him. He couldn't deal with that. He wouldn't deal with it. He'd wait, and he'd pray, and tomorrow he'd try again. Jay fell asleep on the couch, and as if he were trapped in a bad dream, he was still there in the morning, and Simon was still missing. It went on like that for a week, although it felt like forever to Jay. After three days he called the cops and filed a missing persons report. He didn't think it would help - if Simon didn't want to be found, no one was going to find him, especially the cops - but he had to do something. Jay went to work. He made phone calls. He figured he saw every single square inch of the city that wasn't private property. He even swallowed his fear and asked some hustlers if they'd seen Simon walking the streets, but they either lied to him or really didn't know. He found the Dungeon North and went inside to ask them, but they didn't know where Simon was either. Jay went to work because he had to and because he thought it would take his mind off things, but he couldn't concentrate and obsessively called the apartment and Simon's cell phone during store hours. Barry was sympathetic but told Jay to either get his head together and work when he was at the store, or take some time off. Jay promised he'd pay attention. Gerry said he looked terrible. Beata said if Simon showed up she'd break his nose to start, and then work her way down. Jay kept sleeping on the couch because he couldn't sleep in the bed. He could almost feel Simon next to him on the mattress, could almost hear Simon's breathing, could almost touch, but when he rolled over, he was always alone. It was like sleeping with a ghost, and it made him feel so unbearably vulnerable that it kept him up. Every time his mind veered toward the idea that Simon had left him and wasn't coming back, his hands got cold and his stomach dropped out of his chest and he couldn't breathe. He felt like he'd stepped off a cliff and was just going to fall for eternity and never hit the ground. It scared him more than anything had ever scared him - more than his father, more than leaving home, more than the memory of what things were like before Simon and the thought of what they'd be without him - and it angered him and it made his hands shake.

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He would not accept that Simon had left him. He couldn't. He focused on finding him because if he focused on anything else he'd go insane, and Simon had tried to teach him to be tough, hadn't he? Tried to teach him to be self-reliant and capable. And besides, Simon had said he wouldn't leave. He'd promised. He'd said Jay saved his life, kept him alive. He'd said he wouldn't hurt him, and he had anyway. Cate told Jay he was strong. He didn't have the heart to tell her it wasn't strength, it was desperation and denial. It was fear. She told him she'd had a boyfriend in high school, and when they broke up she was so distraught she stopped eating and couldn't even leave the house. "It hurt so bad I couldn't function," she mused. "I lay in bed and cried." "It's like a secret," Jay said. "That's what it feels like. Like I'm hiding in a shell. I'm not... this isn't me. You know? This is, this is a mask. I can't talk about it. Okay? I can't, I can't." "I'm sorry." The phone rang and she answered it. "The Pleasure Principle. He's right here. Hold on." She gave the phone to Jay. "It's for you." "Yeah?" he said into it. "It's Devon," said the voice on the other end. "Simon's in the ER." Ten minutes later Jay had gotten the pertinent information out of Devon (namely, was Simon still alive, and what hospital). Dakota, the new hire (who'd only been at the store a week), had been volunteered to cover Jay's shift, Cate had flagged down a cab and loaned him twenty bucks, and the cab driver had taken off like the proverbial bat out of hell. The driver looked Native American - brown skin, long black hair, craggy face - and said not a word when Jay dissolved into tears in the backseat. He felt a little ridiculous and a little self-conscious crying in the back of a cab, but Jesus, he was so relieved. Simon wasn't dead and wasn't in jail and hadn't left town. There was an outside chance he wasn't still in one piece, because otherwise why would he be in the hospital, but now that Jay knew where Simon was he could get him and bring him home. By the time the cab closed in on the hospital, Jay had managed to calm down a little, at least enough to feel something other than relief. There was still that, but there was also a big heap of anger at Simon for disappearing, and worry about where he'd been and what had happened. Simon hated hospitals. Had a wild unreasoning fear of them. He'd as much as told Jay once that he'd have to be unconscious or dead to let someone take him to one. Jesus Christ, Simon, Jay thought, what did you do?

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He wondered briefly if the Russians had followed them here, but that was stupid. He didn't know what else to think. He had a vague feeling that too much thought would scare the hell out of him. He knew what Simon could do, when left to his own devices. He knew what Simon had done. He just didn't know what it was this time, or why. He didn't think it was because of anything he'd done - or hadn't done - but you never knew. Jay loved Simon but didn't always understand him. He over-tipped the cabbie but didn't care and thank God the reception desk was right by the door or he'd have just walked right in and immediately gotten lost. "I'm here for, for Simon Kay," he told the receptionist, "where is he? Is he okay?" "You a relative?" she asked. "I'm his. His. His boyfriend." The receptionist didn't bat an eyelash. I'm all he has, Jay thought. I was gonna keep him alive. The receptionist shuffled some papers, flipped through some folders, and typed something into her computer. "Oh, here he is," she said. "Drug overdose, looks like. They had to sedate him. Room twelve, around the corner." She pointed down the hall. Jay's mind skittered across her words - Drug overdose. Had to sedate him - as he covered the several yards to the room in ten seconds flat. Room twelve wasn't a room so much as a kind of alcove off the hallway, but at least there was a chair and a curtain pulled around the end of the bed. "Simon?" Jay said tentatively. "Are, are you awake?" All he could hear were assorted muted hospital sounds. He went into the alcove, around the bed, between it and the chair, and just stood there for a minute, looking down. A week he'd wanted this, wanted to find Simon somewhere alive, in one piece. Now that he had, he didn't know what to do. Simon looked terrible, like he hadn't slept or showered all week. His hair was darker, his skin paler. The head of the bed had been cranked up some and behind it was a stand with an IV bag dripping down a tube taped to the back of Simon's hand. He lay with his face turned away. Jay's stomach twisted. This was a little scary, Simon so quiet in a hospital bed. If he'd been fully awake, Jay knew, he'd be clawing the walls to get out. Jay pulled the chair over to the side of the bed, dragged the curtain all the way around to give them some privacy, and sat down. Simon hadn't said anything, hadn't even moved. "What happened?" Jay asked softly. "What did you do? Simon? Say something, please. I thought, I thought you, you left." "Tried to," Simon croaked. He turned his head, cleared his throat. "I ran." "Why? Where've you been? What happened to you?"

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"What, who..." Now Simon looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. "How'd you find me?" He didn't sound surprised. He just sounded tired. "Devon called me at work. He said you were here. I guess someone from the ER called him." Jay suddenly realized that Simon must have told someone here to call the apartment, which meant he must have been out of his head, because he never told people his home phone number. But Jay could ask about it later. Jay scooted forward in the chair until his knees touched the side of the bed. "Please tell me what happened. I think, I think you owe me that. Because you said you weren't gonna leave, and you did. I waited and waited and you never came home, so I went to look, I called everywhere, but no one knew where you were. I was so fucking scared, and I was pissed off, 'cause you promised me, but I found you, you're here, you're still alive, and I wanna know why you left. Where you went. But mostly why. Did I, did I do something? Not do something?" "Wasn't... wasn't you." Jay watched Simon's throat work. "I'm a coward, me. Always leaving it behind. But it follows you. Can't outrun yourself." Simon looked back at Jay, eyes washed out and shadowed and old. "You keep coming back. You're still here." "I love you." But that just made Simon turn away again. "Simon?" "Got tested at the Dungeon. Policy." Simon's voice was still hoarse, and flat. "Okay." "Came back positive." "Oh." What did you say to that? Besides Positive for what? "Oh," Simon repeated. "False positive. Nothing's wrong. Everything's grand." Simon croaked a laugh. Jay didn't think it was funny. "Ran anyway. Couldn't think I'd given it to you." "But you just said it came back wrong, it was a false positive. Why'd you leave if you knew you were okay?" "Found that out later. Couldn't go home and tell you I might've given you something. Reckoned if I left... you'd never know. Never know it was me. Wouldn't... wouldn't hate me." "I don't hate you," Jay said gently. He took Simon's hand, curled his fingers around it and the IV tube taped down. "I did, kind of, 'cause you just took off, but I don't now. I don't. I

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wouldn't. I swear. And you said, you did, it was a false result. So you wouldn't have given me anything, so why didn't you come home then?" "'Cause I was gone. Lost my head again, thinking I'd lost you. Learned I hadn't - not that way - but I'd still left. I said I wouldn't. Said I couldn't." I can't leave you and I won't have you leave me. Jay remembered. His chest tightened, as did his grip on Simon's hand. Simon didn't flinch, didn't turn his head. Simon's tone of voice hadn't changed either - it was still flat and expressionless, as if he was reading something in the paper instead of explaining that he'd vanished because he was scared. "But you did. You left me. And you weren't gonna come home, because... why? You thought, what, I'd be all pissed because you couldn't tell me you'd gotten this blood test back? And it was a false positive anyway?" Jay was sure that should make some kind of sense to him, but it didn't. He could understand why Simon wouldn't want to tell him about the test results when they were positive, but when they weren't, why hadn't Simon come home? "Why didn't you just come home and tell me?" "Didn't think you'd want me back." "You fucking asshole." It just slipped out, but it got Simon to look at him, and now Jay couldn't shut up. "I haven't slept all week. I can't. I was so worried something happened to you, you were in jail or, or dead or something, I asked everyone if they'd seen you, I went, I went everywhere, street corners, bars, I called the Dungeon North a whole bunch of times, I thought I'd never see you again but I couldn't stop looking because I had to do something, I wanted you to come home so bad, I couldn't, I couldn't think what it'd be like without you." He stopped finally, took a deep breath. Simon blinked and some facial expression seeming to shift. "You don't get it," Jay went on, calmer now. "I'd forgive anything. I would. I, I need you. I love you. I couldn't just leave you, wherever you were. If, if you came home, and said, 'I got these test results, they're positive,' we'd figure something out. I wouldn't leave you because of that. I wouldn't hate you either." "You say that now." "I mean it. Jesus, Simon, you scared me. Where did you go? Why are you here?" "Dunno. Woke up on a gurney. Started kicking and screaming. They must've put me down." Simon turned his arm in Jay's grip, stroked the inside of his elbow with his other hand. "See, haven't done that in years. Never liked needles. But it works, you wanna escape something. What day is it?" "Tuesday." "Huh. Lost a few days somewhere. Reckoned so." Simon turned his face to the ceiling again and closed his eyes. Everything in him seemed to go slack. Jay would be worried if he couldn't still feel the pulse in Simon's wrist.

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"I'll get you out of here, okay?" Jay said softly. "And we'll go home and, and it'll be okay. I promise. You won't leave me again and I won't, I won't hold anything against you. Except me, if you want." He grinned weakly. No response. "I missed you so much." "Still want me?" "Of course." "Why? I'm weak, I am. Can't face the hard shit. Everything good..." Simon drew in a deep shuddering breath. "Can't hold it. Never could. Gold always turns to dross. And I run, leave it, 'stead of watching it tarnish. Say I'll stop. Really believe it. But I can't. It's what I do. I run." Jay didn't know what to say to that. He held Simon's hand and watched Simon's face and tried to think of something to do, something to say that would prove he wasn't tarnished. "Come home with me," Jay said finally. "I don't care. Well, no, I do, but I think... if you came home, and, and let me take care of you, just this once, because you're always taking care of me, it'll be okay. It will, I promise. I won't let you leave. Okay? And if you do, I'll just, I'll find you. It's gonna be okay now." "No it's not." "Yes it is. Simon, look at me, please? Come home with me, okay? You're not, you're not sick, I'm fine, I love you, I missed you, I found you, I can't, I can't do it anymore. I want you to come home." Simon didn't say anything. Jay leaned forward, put his head in Simon's lap. He was out of words. He was out of ideas. He was out of everything. "Don't leave me again," he murmured into the sheet. "I don't care what you tell me as long as you stay." He felt Simon's hand on his head, stroking his hair. Such a simple thing, and he'd missed it so much. He'd been so worried, and so angry, and now - now he was just relieved. They could deal later, when they were home, when they had a room with a door they could close. They could talk about it then, when they were alone where they belonged. "Meant to stay, this time," Simon whispered above Jay's head, raspy and barely audible. "Couldn't do it. You should have someone who's good to you. Someone stronger." Jay lifted his head to say he didn't want anyone else, but the words caught in his throat. Simon's eyes were red, his face wet from crying. Jay had never seen Simon cry, had never even imagined a circumstance under which it might happen.

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"Oh, Simon..." Jay said. "Please, don't." Simon just shook his head. "Look at me," he said, sounding bitterly amused. "Can't stay, can't go. Can't keep myself out of the bloody hospital. Lost my head. Tried to lose myself. Lose you. Can't even do that. Christ, Jay, why do you want me? I can't even fuck up properly. I'm broken inside. It's all pieces." Jay kept his grip on Simon's fingers and with his free hand reached up to touch his face. Simon tried to twist away but Jay grabbed his chin and forced Simon to meet his gaze. "When Michael cracked my head against that building," he said softly, "you took me to the ER and bitched them out for not letting me stay overnight. No one else cared what happened to me, if I passed out or whatever, if I needed stitches, if I had brain damage or anything. You looked out for me. You made me do stuff I wouldn't've done, and yeah, some of it was pretty bad, but some of it... I liked. You can talk to me, or kiss me, and make everything okay. You tell me I'm beautiful and no one ever told me that before. You fuck like, like God's gift, like nobody else, and sometimes just looking at you makes me hard, and I love you, and I don't, I don't..." He let go of Simon's chin and laid his palm against the damp stubbled cheek. Simon just blinked at him, eyes still red and wet but the hard bitterness and defeat softening. "I don't want you to leave. I don't think I can do it without you. Anything. I love you, okay? Because of all kinds of things. I can't explain it, I just do. I'll go find a doctor or someone and we'll go home. I'll do whatever you want - you can tie me to the bed or, or I can learn to paddle harder, or whatever, I don't care, it doesn't matter, just come home with me. You don't have to keep leaving. You're always telling me to face my fears, right? It's easier with someone who loves you." "Not gonna make you any promises." "Promise you won't leave again." "Already did. See where it got me?" "But..." Simon shook his head. No. Jay knew he could be stubborn like that. "Okay, okay. Okay. But if you leave me I swear to God I'm gonna come after you again. I'm gonna find you." Simon grinned tiredly and Jay felt better. It was the closest thing to Simon laughing at him, and who would have ever thought he'd want that? But it meant Simon was more like his old self. It meant things would be okay. It meant they could go home and fuck like bunnies. Jay could make Simon stay, prove how much Jay cared, why he loved Simon so much.

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"Right," Simon said, "get me the fuck out of here." He pried Jay's hand off his and tried to pull out the IV, but Jay stopped him. "Let me get a nurse, okay? Trust me." Simon opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. "Just this once." Simon grinned again, looking more like his old self. Jay wiped the tears away, stood up, and kissed him. He tasted like salt. "Don't go anywhere. I'm gonna take care of you, okay? 'Cause you took care of me. I love you." Jay didn't think he could say it enough times. "I know." One more kiss, which threatened to become two, then three, then Jay had to force himself not to climb onto the bed, and finally he extricated himself and went off to find a doctor or a nurse or someone who would let him take Simon home, so they could go back (more or less) to the way things were. Getting Simon out of the hospital involved arguing with a resident (or maybe he was a real doctor), sweet-talking a nurse, and figuring out the fastest way to get home that cost less than seven dollars. Jay wanted to stop on the way and pick up a cucumber and some tomatoes and feta cheese, because he thought it might remind Simon of Greece, of the good things in life, but he decided it was more important to go home. They'd take a shower, have sex, maybe talk, scrounge up something if Simon was hungry... Maybe it was a good thing Simon wasn't hungry, he just wanted to go home and clean up. When they got back to the apartment they found it empty, which should not have been a huge surprise. "Shower first," Jay said, steering them into the bathroom and spinning the taps in the tub while Simon shucked off his clothes. When the water was nice and hot Jay flipped the knob to turn on the showerhead, but Simon leaned around and flipped it back. "Wanna sit and soak," Simon explained. "You can join me, if you want." Oh, yeah. Jay wanted. Simon climbed in the tub as it filled with hot water, leaned back, closed his eyes, and sighed. "That's it," he said. "Hot water. Fucking lovely." "Scoot forward," Jay said, stripping and turning off the water and climbing in behind Simon. He sat as far back as he could, settling Simon between his legs and starting to scrub Simon's back and hair. After a minute or two Jay told the man to dunk his head, and then reached around to get Simon's chest. When his hand skated over Simon's nipple ring, Simon arched back and sighed. Jay's hand drifted lower. "Right," Simon whispered, as Jay started stroking his cock, "like that, luv. Harder. Oh, Christ, that's good." Jay leaned closer and nibbled on Simon's shoulder, his own hips unconsciously making little thrusting motions as he fisted Simon's cock.

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Simon's head dropped back and his hand wrapped around Jay's and he moaned, and in short order he was humping their twined fingers and biting back a cry as he came in the bath water. "'S good to be home," Simon said, a little breathlessly. "Got good hands, you do." "Oh, God, Simon, I missed you so much, I want, I want, I want to fuck you, please, I need - " Simon turned his head and planted a sloppy kiss on Jay's jaw. "I can feel how bad you need it," he said, grinning. "Feel how hard." He reached down and stroked Jay's erection, which of course made Jay moan, and then with a little splashing Simon managed to turn around, lever himself up, and sink back down on Jay's cock. And oh, God, Jay missed this, missed Simon's skin hot against his, Simon tight around him, Simon's mouth and hands and the noises, moans and sighs and panting encouragement, Simon's ass shifting and rising and falling and clenching in Jay's hands. Simon planted both hands flat on the wall and rode Jay hard until they were both breathless, which didn't take long at all, and then Jay was trembling and thrusting frantically and coming like he hadn't had sex in months. They stayed that way for several minutes, Simon in Jay's lap, legs around his waist, Jay still inside him. They nibbled and licked and sucked and kissed and except for the occasional sated sigh they were silent. It felt good to do that, it felt right. "Okay," Simon said eventually, "gotta go lie down on a bed. Been a bloody hard week, baby." "I know. For me, too. I'm so glad I found you. I really missed you. Just your, your presence, you know? At night." "I get that." One last kiss and Simon pulled off, stood up, climbed out of the tub, and dripped on the bathmat while he clumsily rubbed his head with a towel. Jay's breath caught. He'd known Simon a year and more, and the sight of him still made Jay's heart pound. Simon lowered the towel, slung it around his waist, and caught Jay's stare. "What?" "Jesus, Simon... you're, you're beautiful," Jay said. Simon grinned and held out a hand. "Come on out of there and tell me that again." "You're beautiful. You're beautiful and I love you." Jay climbed out of the tub, pulled the plug to let the water out, and put his arms around Simon, pressing close. "I love you so much," he whispered. "You can't even guess."

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"Reckon I can," Simon whispered back. "Came to get me, didn't you? Come on, come lie

down with me. Tell me Mike #1 said you'd have to pick up my part of the rent."

"He didn't. Neither of them did. Don't leave me again."

"I'll try."

"Promise."

"No."

"Okay. Fuck me instead?"

"Ah, now, that's an idea I can get behind. Literally, yeah?" Jay laughed and was still laughing when Simon propelled him into the bedroom and kicked the door closed behind them. Simon had to kiss him to shut him up, which really wasn't something Jay was going to complain about. Afterwards they curled together panting and exhausted under the covers, arms and legs around each other, hip to hip and heart to heart. Jay settled his cheek against Simon's shoulder and felt himself drift off. He knew there were still things they had to say to each other, but he couldn't bring himself to say any of them. He wanted to take this just the way it was and spin it out into forever. The world had given Simon back to him for what he hoped was the last time, and he was so grateful he didn't have words for it. "You awake?" Simon asked softly.

"No."

"You sure?" Fingers made lazy circles on his back, down his spine and over his butt to his

thighs. He shifted and wriggled. He could get hard again from that, from the way Simon touched him. "No."

"Hm." The fingers traveled back up, a warm palm settling in the small of his back. Jay sighed

contentedly. "Wanna tell you something."

"What?"

"What happened in Thailand. Why I went, why I left. What I did."

"You don't - why?" Jay looked up, or tried to. He had to push away a little bit. Simon let him.

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"Reckon it's time. You don't wanna know, you tell me. It's hard, you should know that. But I figure honesty and all, you oughta know what I've done." "I don't need to know," Jay said. He was awake now, and he was pretty sure he didn't need to know. Simon just smiled sadly. "I think I wanna tell you. Take a weight off, you know? I’ll stop if you ask me, but I wanna start, at least." "Okay. I guess." Jay snuggled close again, his head under Simon's chin. Simon wanted to do this, so Jay was okay with that. Jay would let Simon do anything. "Right. Told you about Greece, yeah? The Brazilian girl?" "Sort of." "Sort of? Her name was Maria. I was in love with her." And that was where Simon started, with the girl he loved before Jay. He told the story of her, of the two of them, rootless traveling kids and their rootless traveling friends, the community they moved in, their little loves and lives and their tenuous, rolling world. Jay listened to Simon's voice, telling the story of Greece. When he got to the point at which Maria broke his heart, Simon stopped. "Go on," Jay said. "You went, you left. Right?" "Yeah. Packed a bag, hopped a train, fetched up in Bangkok. Knew a bloke there. I always knew a bloke somewhere." Jay figured there was more to that, but didn't ask. Then Simon told him about Bangkok, about losing whole weeks because you just didn't care, about trying to lose yourself and nearly losing your mind. Simon told Jay what he could remember about the guys he did and the guys who did him, and about the parts of Thailand the tourists never saw, and about the drugs and the drinking, the heat, the humidity, the bugs, the black holes in his head and the gaping hole in his heart. He told Jay what he could remember and said he made guesses about what he couldn't, and guesses as to why. He told Jay all these things in the same measured voice he used for telling his crazy rambling stories, but more calm and distant, as if this was just another story, the story of someone else. Simon's hand lay still on Jay's back, but Jay could feel Simon's heart racing inside his chest. "How do you do that?" Jay asked. "Do what?" "Tell me all this stuff and not freak out. You sound so calm, like it didn't happen to you."

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"Only way I can tell it." Simon shrugged, a brief twitch of his shoulder under Jay's head. "You believe me now when I tell you what a fuckup I am, all the shit I've done in my life?" "No." Jay pressed a kiss into Simon's collarbone. "Tell me how it ended." So Simon told Jay about waking up one day and realizing he could die there, realizing he'd been trying to die all along, and realizing he didn't want to die after all. Simon told about leaving the city in defiance, daring it to swallow him whole or break him beyond repair, and about knowing someone somewhere else, and about trying to leave it all behind again. "I'm sorry," Jay said softly. "Why? Wasn't your fault." "I don't know. I just am. Why did you tell me?" Simon shrugged again. "You never believe the shit I've done," he said. "You never believe I can be a right bastard, even when I am. I'm trying to make you see. And maybe if I tell someone, it won't happen again. It's like my little secret, the holes in my brain. Don't wanna live it again. And part of it" - he kissed the top of Jay's head - "you're always here when I get back. You're the only solid thing in my world." He pulled Jay up so they could look each other in the face, and cupped Jay's chin in his hand. His eyes were bright. "You love me. No one else does." Jay didn't know what to say, other than "Oh." "'Oh'? That all you have to say?" Simon grinned. "Poured my heart out, I did, and all you can say is 'Oh'. Teach me to open up." "You're insane. You're just, you're fucking insane." Honest and beautiful and hard and sexy and sweet and thoughtless and funny and strong and insane, and there was no one in the wide world Jay would rather have. "I love you, Jay baby," Simon whispered, like it was a secret and someone was listening. "You know that, yeah? More than anything." "Yeah," Jay whispered back, rubbing slowly against him, "I know. I always, I always hoped. But I know. I know." And because they had so much time to make up and so many things to prove and twice wasn't enough, they moved against each other until they were both hard and wanting, stroking and squeezing and licking and biting and moaning, until Jay rolled over and spread his legs for the only man he would ever love, until Simon pushed inside him and thrust with long, slow strokes, until they were both babbling, sobbing and breathless, unable to hold back

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any longer, until time stretched and snapped and they came together, shaking and pushing

and groaning past each other's lips, trembling and sated and happy.

"Welcome home," Jay murmured.

"Thanks," Simon murmured back. "Turn over, yeah?"

"Why?"

"Can't sleep like this anymore, not facing someone."

So Jay rolled over until they were spooned together the way they used to do, back to chest,

Simon's arm around him and their fingers twined over his belly.

"Good to be home," Simon mumbled into his shoulder.

"Good to have you home. Don't leave me again."

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"Not yet."

"Someday?"

"Maybe."

"It's not, it's not good enough."

"It'll have to do."

"I know."

"I missed you, Jay. I'm sorry."

Jay settled back, pressing as much of himself as he could against Simon's body, tangling their

legs and holding warmth. Skin to skin and everything he ever wanted. "It's okay," he said.

"You're home, okay? That's all that matters now that you're home, with me."

Simon kissed his shoulder and the back of his neck and held him close. "Proud of you, for

getting me."

"I had to." He felt himself nodding off. Jesus, he was tired. "I'm, I'm kind of lost without you."

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"Makes two of us. Night, baby. I'll still be here in the morning." And he was. *** A week earlier The last person Simon expected to see in San Francisco was Dove, the boy he’d met in Santa Clara with the good flogging arm. Simon didn’t even recognize the boy until he’d almost passed him, it was so unexpected. But he stopped, gave Dove a slow, considering once-over, and grinned a white, wolfish grin. "What's this, then?" he said teasingly. "Pretty bird left its cage? What are you doing in my city, pretty bird?" But he was still smiling - he really didn't want Dove to push off. Dove grinned back, returning the once over. "Playing in different skies is all." Dove shifted against the wall and leaned a little closer. "Got some time to kill, Simon?" Dove asked, his gaze traveling the length of Simon's body again. Simon's grin widened and he stepped closer. "Yeah, I got time. You got the energy?" Dove laughed at that, looking as though he had the energy. "I'll try not to wear you out," he said dryly. He stepped closer, far into Simon's personal space. Anyone else, Simon would’ve stepped back and named his price, but with Dove, he didn’t want to. It was never about money. "Wanna move with you. Dance, play, whatever. Got an itch to scratch, you know?" Dove said. "Think I can help with that.” And then Simon pushed Dove back against the wall, hands on his shoulders, body pressed to his, and kissed him. It was a hard kiss, a needy kiss, the kiss of someone who also had an itch. Simon ground against Dove, hands on either side of his face now, cock growing hard and hot against his hip. Dove moaned into Simon's mouth. Dove gave as good as he got, hands on Simon's ass as he rocked his hips. Someone passed by them and swore, told them to get a room. Dove laughed into Simon's mouth. "Don't need a room. Just need to get off." He pushed Simon away and grabbed his hand, dragging him a few feet down the street and around the corner of a building.

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Simon let him. He let Dove push him into another wall, this one out of the flow of traffic, and he let Dove take the kiss again, one hand going to Simon’s cock. "Get off, then dance?” Dove asked. “Make this bird fly?" "To the moon," Simon murmured, his eyes on Dove's face and his hands moving at the waist of Dove's pants. "Bet you taste good, luv." Simon kissed Dove one last time, hard and quick, then sank to his knees on the ground, pushing Dove back a bit and working his pants open. "You're making it too easy, Dove," Simon said, dragging the boy’s jeans down enough to free his cock. "No shorts." He looked up and grinned. "I like easy." He wrapped a hand around Dove's erection, pumped a few times. "I like hard. I like it all." Simon swallowed Dove down in one fast, smooth motion, taking the boy in all the way to the root. His tongue rasped up the side of Dove's cock, teased just under the head, swept over the slit and back down. He used his teeth, very gently, and his lips and that tongue, and he sucked on Dove like a pro, because he was a pro. While his mouth and throat worked Dove's cock his fingers dug into Dove's ass, encouraging the boy, teasing at the tight hole. This was the way it used to be, taking what he wanted when he wanted it, no one to answer to and if he wanted to fuck without money changing hands, he could. No strings. No rules. Just a willing body, a hard cock. Dove's head fell back and the boy used his hands to brace himself against the wall as he started to fuck Simon's mouth. Simon gave him just a little bit more, a little harder, a little bit of rough, then looked up to see Dove staring down. Dove groaned. "Fuck. So... oh, fuck, like that. Gonna come, Simon. Soon. Move." Simon took one more long hard pull on Dove's cock, coming off with a pop. He shifted to the side, one hand pumping Dove’s cock, the fingers of the other pushing into his ass and Dove came, trembling just a little. "Oh, yeah," Dove groaned. "Good." "Said I could help. Later you can return the favor. Still got the energy to dance?" Dove laughed and did up his pants. "Fuck yes. Go all night." Dove looked around as they stepped out into the street. "Uh, but I don't have a flying fuck of an idea where I am. Know a place?" Simon thought for a minute. "Just to dance? Give us a sec." He swayed back and forth while he thought, moving his hips to an internal soundtrack of good dance music. He’d been to enough places in this city, he should be able to find somewhere for them to go. "You just want a beat, yeah? Someplace uncomplicated? Or you want a scene?"

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"Just want to move. Need to move. Someplace we won't get stared at would be good. Someplace dark and loud and alive." Dove watched Simon's hips and matched the movements, and when he apparently realized what he was doing, he grinned. "Think we'll make our own scene." Simon grinned back. "Might do. Right. Got a place. Called Man Ray, couple streets over and down some blocks. Come on." He took off at a jog. Dove followed. Man Ray was dark and loud and full of dancers, just as Simon remembered. Well, there were some dancers and some gropers and at least one couple practically fucking on the dance floor. The music had a driving beat, one song blending into another in a seamless stream of sound. Simon dragged Dove into the crowd on the floor, saying "Okay, pretty bird, show me how you move without a flogger in your hand." Dove did. He picked up the beat easily, hips and arms flowing, looking lost in the sound and the vibrations. He reached for Simon and they moved together, all slinky hips and loose limbs. Dove danced like he worked, light and fluid, moving through air and sound, letting his hands go where the music dictated. Just as beautiful as he’d been at Not a Nice Place, but not quite as dangerous. He pulled Simon closer, hands on his waist, letting the crush of the crowd keep them together. Simon reckoned they were both going to get hard again real fast, moving like this. Simon rested his hands on Dove's hips, dancing in the same measure, sometimes with his eyes closed and sometimes watching Dove's face. He smiled, leaned in, hissed, "So fucking sexy, Dove. The way you move. A bloke could come from watching, from being this close." With those last two words he pulled himself against Dove so they were hip to hip, his cock rubbing hard on Dove's thigh. "Want you to fuck me," he rasped, breath warm and moist in Dove's ear. Dove hissed. "Christ, yeah. Think you can take me? How do you want it?" Dove slid a hand around to Simon's ass, the other cupping Simon's balls. He leaned close and licked Simon's neck, collarbone to ear. "Want me to take you here? Against a wall? Fuck you over that railing on the balcony? You want to lean over a table at the back? How do you want me, Simon? Fast and hard? Or you want me to take my time, make you beg?" Everything, Simon wanted to say. Want you to do everything to me. Let me do anything I bloody well please to you. "Let you do me right here on the floor,” was what he did say, “'cept we'd probably get booted out." Simon's voice was breathless, wanting. "And I know I can take you, pretty bird. Take everything you got, and more." He pushed into Dove's hand, grip tightening on his ass. "Bend me over the balcony railing, jackhammer into me with that long, hard prick." His teeth

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closed on Dove's earlobe and he moaned softly, partly for effect and partly for honest need. "Gotta do it now, luv. Gonna come right here." Dove grabbed his hand and pulled him up the stairs, ignoring the outraged look of a girl in black that they almost knocked over. Dove led Simon to the railing, beside one of the pillars and kissed him hard, tongue plunging deep as he forced his hand into Simon's jeans. "Fuck, your jeans are as tight as mine." Dove broke the kiss to say, then wrapped his hand around Simon's cock and started stroking, hips still catching the beat of the music. He turned Simon around, forcing him to bend at the waist over the railing as he moved behind him. They were mostly shielded from the crowd, but not entirely. Simon grinned to himself as Dove worked his jeans down past his hips. "Oh, fucking hell, need this," Dove said, and from his movements Simon guessed he was pulling a rubber from his pocket. "Gonna make you scream, Simon. Make you sing my song." "You gonna talk or you gonna fuck me? Didn't say I wanted to beg you for it." Simon wiggled his ass for good measure. Dove laughed and slid two fingers into Simon's ass, preparing him quickly. Just as quickly Dove had the rubber on, and leaned forward, draping over Simon's back. "No need to beg. But you are gonna sing for me." Pushing in hard and fast, Dove gave Simon what he wanted. What he needed. Dove didn't bother waiting for Simon to get used to it, just started thrusting, changing his angle slightly each time until Simon lifted his head sharply and cried out, the sound lost in the music. "There. Right there," Dove said. Simon needed this, needed it badly, and hips moved back to meet Dove’s. Dove put a hand on the small of his back to keep him still, wrapping the other around Simon's cock and starting to slam into him, taking him roughly. Fucking hell. Such a clever boy Dove was, such strength in his hips, in his hand. Pretty bird, making Simon sing, a full-throated howl as he came between Dove's fingers, muscles clenching tight around Dove's cock, back arching under his hand. Maybe the people down below could hear him. The thought made him smile. But then, maybe they couldn't. Simon kept pushing back against Dove's hips, still riding his cock, pulling his own climax from him. Dove buried himself deep in Simon's ass as he rode it out, pinned Simon to the railing until the last shudders had passed.

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Then Dove pulled out and ditched the condom, turning Simon even as he hauled his jeans back up. His eyes were glazed, and he didn't even look at Simon, not really, just kissed him again and leaned into him. "Shit, you sing a sweet song," Dove finally said, letting Simon stand up. "You play a good organ," Simon said, a little breathlessly. He took Dove's chin in his hand and pulled his head back so they could look each other in the face. Simon's grin was bright. "Next time I wanna watch you. Wanna see your face when you come. You're bloody fucking strong, pretty bird. I liked that." He kissed Dove lightly, almost tenderly, then asked, "You got another dance in you? Wanna go burn up the floor?" Dove grinned. "Told you, I got energy. If I haven't exhausted you yet, I think we need to dance." He glanced down at the crowd below them. "Gotta show them how it's done, yeah?" Simon grinned and they headed back down the stairs and onto the dance floor. Simon intended to keep moving with Dove until he couldn't stand up any longer. Or until Dove decided to go home. Either way, he’d gotten some of what he wanted. *** Later, days and weeks later, after Jay had found Simon, after he’d gone home, he realized they were almost living a fairy tale – boy leaves home, goes to the big city, makes good. Falls in love. But not a fairy tale, not the way he lived it, only if you looked at it a certain way. Simon would tell you about it if you asked. Once upon a time... Isn't that the way these things start? Once upon a time, there was a princess in a tower, there was a young man under a curse. Fairy stories. Tales for children. Once upon a time, there was a boy who left home... I was always the storyteller, you know. I was the one who could lie. Once upon a time, there was a metal boy. He was hard and shiny and beautiful. Things bounced off him. His works, the wheels and cogs and gears and things that made him run they were cracked and scrambled, but his skin was so perfect you couldn't tell. He was vain, because he knew he was beautiful, and he was reckless, because he knew he was tough, and he was broken already, so he didn't have to take care. One day he met a rabbit, a scared, sweet little thing, and took it home. The rabbit was grateful, as you can imagine, and late at night, when the metal boy was sleeping - because even metal boys have to sleep – the rabbit would open his chest and fiddle with the wheels and cogs and gears and things, trying to fix the boy so his insides were as nice as his

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outsides. Sometimes the rabbit tangled them worse, but sometimes it straightened things out, or oiled them, or replaced them. And because this happened when the metal boy wasn't paying attention, he never realized. The rabbit couldn't look after itself, so the metal boy let it stay. But the rabbit, inside its fragile furry skin, was hard as steel, as shiny and perfect on the inside as the metal boy was on the outside, but because all it could see was soft fur and fragile bones, it didn't know, and the metal boy couldn't very well cut it open and show it how strong it really was. Make up your own ending for this one. I have another. Once upon a time, there was a boy who looked Death in the face and told it to fuck off. He reckoned eventually it would come back for him, and then one day it did. But there was a boy he loved, so when Death came calling again, the boy who'd looked it in the face took its bony hand in his and ran off with it, to keep it away from this boy he loved. But instead of going on with life, as was the plan, the boy he loved went after him, found the pieces Death had picked off, or most of them, and put him back together. You'd think that'd be the happy ending, wouldn't you. Well, I can't say. That story isn't over yet and I don't know how it ends. I imagine Death comes back, because it's a persistent bugger, and it likes the boy because he tempts it, and it's just waiting for a chance to have its own back. Once upon a time there was a boy who left home, and with a little help lived to tell about it.

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PART FIVE – THE WEIGHT OF HISTORY Chapter Eight One day Simon went out and bought a cheap full-length mirror and nailed it to the back of

the bedroom door. He spent some quality time preening in front of it, which made Jay laugh.

"Ah, c'mere," Simon said, grabbing him and pulling him in front of it as well.

Jay blushed and looked at the floor. He hated watching himself in a mirror. He was too tall

for it, anyway - you couldn't see his face. "Look at yourself, luv," Simon said. "Just look."

"No, I look stupid," Jay insisted, twisting out of Simon's grip and going out into the other

room.

Much later that night, after they'd gone to bed, Jay heard something dragging and flipped on

the little lamp on the bedside table to reveal Simon sitting in a kitchen chair, buck naked,

staring at the mirror on the back of the door. Staring and lazily stroking off. Jay blinked.

"Simon?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"What are you doing?"

"What's it look like? Watching myself get off. Wanna help?" Grinned at Jay in the mirror.

Jay got out of bed, fully intending to help, but when he straddled Simon and tried to kiss him,

Simon made him get up and turn around, so they were both facing the back of the door.

"Oh, no," Jay said, "I don't wanna have to watch myself."

"I do." Simon's hand came around and stroked Jay's thigh.

"Why?"

"I don't tell you enough times?"

"I know, I'm beautiful." Jay didn't believe it. He'd never believed it. Besides, Simon's hand

had moved off his thigh to stroke his cock, and that was distracting. He looked down, at

Simon's hand around his stiffening prick, rather than at his own face in the mirror.

"You are." Simon's voice dropped. "The way you blush, the way your eyes darken" – Simon's

hand moved faster and Jay moaned softly - "your mouth, your throat" - Simon tilted his head

and nibbled on Jay's ear - "your long legs, your prick... Oh, luv, you're fucking stunning."

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Jay closed his eyes and let his head drop back against Simon's shoulder as his hips lifted and pushed into that strong, sure hand. He reached around behind them, groping blindly, but was distracted by Simon's other hand on his chin, pulling his head forward again. "Open your eyes, Jay. Look at yourself. Look at us." Jay blinked. "Want you to see yourself the way I see you. What I wouldn't do to you to keep that look on your face, the one that says, 'Fuck me harder, Simon, gonna come any second'." Jay moaned. Simon's hand on his cock pulled harder, long firm strokes that made him gasp, that were indeed going to make him come any second. "Watch," Simon murmured in his ear. "See yourself? See that look? See your prick in my hand, hard and hot and so hungry for it? Love that look, baby, could fuck you all night when you look at me that way. Might fuck you all night now." "Oh... God," Jay panted, "Simon, please..." He managed to focus on their reflection, and Simon was right, in a way - he was flushed and dark-eyed and could just about see his pulse dancing in his throat, but he was also skinny and gangly and looked absurd sitting in Simon's lap, the two of them backlit cheesily by the bedside lamp, and it was Simon he really wanted to see anyway, those pale blue eyes gone midnight with need, those strong hands, the long cock with the ring in it which Jay could feel hard against his ass. "Love the way your hair falls in your face," Simon went on, "and the way your legs fit over my shoulders, and your arse in those tight trousers you wore on Halloween, and your cock Christ, Jay, you don't see it, so shy you are, so bloody timid... My wild deer, my beautiful boy." The words alone could make Jay come. Simon never talked like that. And maybe because Simon thought him so, Jay was almost beautiful. Simon grinned at them over Jay's shoulder, white teeth reflected in the mirror on the door, while Simon's hand moved faster and Jay bit his lip, concentrating, trying to see whatever it was Simon saw in him, and, "Come for me, Jay," Simon whispered in his ear, voice dark and hoarse and breathless and oh, Jesus, Simon was going to say it, said it all the time now, "you're beautiful when you come," and Jay swallowed a cry and for a split second he was beautiful, he was everything Simon said he was as his hips snapped and he came on his thighs over Simon's hand. "You see?" Simon murmured. "Maybe. Maybe." "Just maybe?" Simon nibbled on Jay's shoulder as his hand slowed. Simon's reflection was still grinning. "You'll see it someday, luv. You'll see what I see." "I don't wanna see me." Jay glanced away. He didn't have to look at himself anymore. He could pretend Simon had made a point. "Can I get up now?"

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Simon seemed a little disappointed, but his look faded into pleasure as Jay stood up, turned around, wiped come off himself and onto Simon's cock, and sank back down, straddling him, pulling him deep inside. Jay rocked against him, leaned in and kissed him, stroked down his back with gentle hands. Simon cupped Jay's ass and pushed up inside. "You bought that mirror so you could watch yourself fucking me in it," Jay murmured. Simon laughed. "Course I did," he said. "Meant what I said, though. You oughta take a look

at yourself sometime. A good look."

"For a second, I think, I think I saw. What you see. Us. Me. But I'm not, I'm not beautiful - "

"You are to me."

Jay had no answer for that other than to kiss Simon fiercely and to ride him until they were

both gasping and trembling, until Simon pushed a hand between them to stroke Jay off for a

second time as they moaned into each other's mouths and came one right after the other.

"I love you," Jay whispered into Simon's shoulder, when he got his breath back. "Because of,

of the things you tell me. Even though they're not true."

Simon just snorted. "Gonna shag you silly every fucking night of the week, in front of that

mirror, 'til you believe me."

"Then we're gonna do a lot of fucking in this chair." How was that a bad thing?

"Maybe we could take a break every once in a while and do it on the bed."

"Or against the dresser."

"Still think I oughta do you facing the mirror." Simon brushed a kiss across his mouth. "Off

me, yeah? Think I've made my point for now."

Jay pulled off and stood up a little unsteadily. He held out his hand but Simon spun him

around so he was facing the mirror again, and this time before he could twist away Simon

wrapped both arms around Jay's waist and held him there.

"You'll believe it someday, Jay baby," Simon said softly. "I have faith, I do."

It was nice that one of them did. But Jay knew that if you heard something directed at you

enough times you'd start to believe it, so maybe Simon was right, and someday he would

look at himself in a mirror and think he was beautiful. Simon thought he was, and for now

that was good enough.

But it wasn’t the only thing he needed to understand.

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* * *

"Do you wanna watch me work?" Simon had asked, and Jay had said no. "What do you want?" Simon had asked, and Jay had said, "I want to understand why you need the flogging," and so they were here, both of them, at Not a Nice Place, and Simon pointed out a boy with white-blond hair over against the wall, and Jay wasn't sure this was going to be such a good idea. But he'd wanted to do this. He'd practically had to beg Simon to take him, and Simon had caved. Jay really wanted to understand, because he was terrified that if he couldn't understand, if he couldn't give Simon what Simon so obviously needed, then Simon would leave him for someone who could. Nothing Simon said could convince him otherwise. And Simon still wasn't promising not to leave him. "No promises," Simon'd said. "Just trust me, yeah?" Jay did trust him. But Jay didn't trust himself. And he did want to understand. And so they were here, so Simon could be flogged and Jay could watch. The place was big and noisy and dark, mostly, except for the stage and Jay just wouldn't look there, not yet. He stood next to Simon and looked where he pointed watching the boy with white hair for a moment. He tried to see what made him the one rather than someone else. He wondered if it would show on his face, if there was something that would set him apart from the others, but all that he could really see was all that long, white hair. Then the boy shifted to the side a bit and Jay could see the other one, the dark one, a little taller, a little older. The one with his pants open and his stiff cock out and his head tipped back, the boy licking his neck. "His name's Dove," Simon whispered, one hand warm and familiar on the small of Jay's back, right above his ass. "Pretty boy. Got a good arm." Simon looked at Jay, his expression both serious and aroused. "Sure you wanna stay?" Jay just nodded. Simon grinned and kissed him, the hand sliding lower to squeeze his ass. "Wanna meet him?" "I. Um. Yes." "We'll wait 'til he's done, yeah? Not polite to interrupt a man." Simon kissed Jay again, and Jay tried to block out enough of the club to kiss back. Jay felt like maybe they should get a drink or something and he wondered how they would know when Dove was done, unless they looked over occasionally which seemed kind of rude, even here. But it was like when you tried not to think about pink alligators or something and they get stuck in your brain anyway, and even though he didn't really want to, Jay looked over just as Dove looked up, his hand working the other guy's cock. Dove's eyes got wide and then narrow and he seemed to look right at Simon, then Jay, hand never slowing.

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Instead Dove grinned and leaned up to talk into the dark haired man's ear, still pulling and playing. The other guy suddenly opened his eyes and looked right at them, then kissed Dove hard, coming in Dove's hand. "I think, I think they're done," Jay said. Simon had both arms around him now, which was comforting, and was nibbling on his ear, which was not. "Simon, stop, please." "Right," Simon murmured, pulling back. "A kiss for luck, yeah?" "He's, um, he's coming over here. I think." Now he was nervous. It did indeed look like the white-blond boy and the guy he'd stroked off were walking over to where they stood. Jay blinked. Simon was right – the boy was pretty. "Guess you'll get to meet him, then." Dove walked right up to them, eyes raking over Simon and then Jay, a slight smile playing around his mouth. He had the other man by the hand, but let go when he got near, leaving the guy to circle around them, playing a little. Simon just grinned, white teeth flashing, waiting. "Bring me a present, Simon?" Dove purred when he got around to the front again, his eyes on Jay. "Or is he just for you?" "I don't share," Simon said, grin turning feral. "Dove, meet Jay. Jay, Dove." "Hey," Jay said. He took Simon's hand, feeling stupid and childish and suddenly way out of his depth. This was not a brilliant idea on his part. "He wanted to watch," Simon told Dove. "So give him a good show, yeah?" Dove laughed, actually tossed his head back and laughed, then turned to the other guy, who'd sort of faded into the background. "Fuck, it's catching. This is Damon. He's my 'calming influence', they say." Dove pulled Damon close and leaned back onto the man's chest, wrapping Damon's arms around his waist. "He wants to watch me with you." Dove suddenly lost the smile and met Simon's gaze with something just as feral as Simon ever showed. "And I always put on a good show, Simon. Yeah? We gonna play?" Jay looked at Damon and met serious brown eyes. Damon nodded at him, seeming unconcerned about the fact that Jay had just watched him come, and said, "Hush, Dove." That was all Damon said, and Dove glared at him, but settled back against Damon again and waited for Simon to answer. "Last chance to back out, luv," Simon said.

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Jay shook his head. In for a penny, in for a pound, isn't that what they said? "Right." Simon squeezed Jay's hand, kissed him quick, and let go. "Didn't come down from the big city to stand around and chatter, did we? You go sit," he told Jay. "You and Damon watch, yeah? Me and Dove're gonna go play. Be thinking about you," Simon whispered in Jay's ear, which just made him blush. And then Simon was gone and Jay looked at Damon. "Maybe we should, um, we should sit down somewhere?" he said. He thought he might actually like Damon, if only because he seemed so calm and unconcerned. Damon nodded and led him to a table off to the side. When they were seated Damon looked at Jay and then around the club. "You ever seen anything like this before?" Damon asked, sounding curious. Damon held up a hand when Jay started to answer and reached the other arm out to grab at something Jay couldn't see. When the arm came back Damon had Dove by the belt loop. "What the hell are you doing?" Damon asked mildly. Dove grinned at him. "Making sure your eyes are where they're supposed to be." Damon kissed Dove hard, a hand on the back of Dove's neck. "Go play," Damon said and let Dove go. He pointed to the stage. "Your man is getting ready," Damon said to Jay. "You know what's going to happen?" Jay blinked. Damon and Dove were a couple, no question. So how did Damon stand watching his boyfriend whip people? Jay wondered how he could ask without sounding stupid or naive, or both. "Um," he said. "They're gonna tie Simon down, or chain him" - he pointed to the stage, where someone Jay assumed was the whipping master was chaining Simon's ankles - "and Dove's probably gonna use a cat, because Simon likes those, and I guess Dove's gonna whip him hard enough to bleed, and until Simon comes." And I'm going to try not to let it get to me, he thought. "There's more?" Damon looked at him seriously. "Well, that's the basics. But you're not here for that, are you? You don't want to see your Simon getting hurt, you don't want to see Dove fucking him." Damon leaned over the table, getting close to Jay but not too close. Jay figured Damon didn't want him to freak out. "You're not here to get off on that. You want to understand, don't you?" Jay nodded. "Does it, does it show?" And then, because something in him trusted something in Damon, he added, "I'm afraid he's gonna leave me, if, if I can't, I can't - I can't," he finished lamely. "He always says I don't hit hard enough, but I can't..." It made Jay think of his dad, but that was TMI and none of Damon's business anyway. "So, yeah, I wanna understand it, and maybe I can, I can do it, and he won't leave."

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He blushed, suddenly painfully aware of how much he'd just opened up to a total stranger. Simon had always told him he was too trusting. But Damon... maybe Jay could trust him a little. Damon leaned back and looked at him for a moment, then moved closer. "This okay?" Damon asked, and Jay nodded, not really sure why it wouldn't be. Damon leaned over and talked into his ear, one arm going around the back of Jay's chair, not touching him, but yeah, kinda close. "Don't know him, so I can't tell you if he's gonna leave or not," Damon said. "Watch him though, right now. Watch him and watch Dove dance. They're gonna play, and I want to see... want to watch Dove. Can tell you about him, why he does this, why I can stand to watch - maybe even tell you why I get off on it. Can't tell you your reasons, can't tell you Simon's - but I can guess." Damon's voice was low and smooth, almost relaxing him, until he saw Dove step into the light. Jay thought he could maybe understand this part, because Dove was beautiful - hard and sharp and something about him reminded Jay of Simon. Maybe it was the pale hair, or the way Dove stood, coiled and ready and so, so sexy. And Simon - well, Simon was Simon, and in a potato sack he could still get Jay hard. Stripped naked he was a sight to see, his cock already starting to fill and his chest rising and falling and his eyes searching the audience for Jay. Simon grinned a white wolfish grin, and even though Jay thought it was more for the audience - and Dove and Damon - than it was for him, he felt a flush creep over his cheeks. He was getting hard already. Jay wanted to know why Dove flogged people, how Damon got off on it, but for the moment he just wanted to watch Simon up there on stage, wanted to watch his beautiful British boyfriend, his boyfriend who didn't share. Dove and Simon talked, Simon chained up and Dove looking like a hunter. Jay wanted to ask Damon what they were saying but he didn't want to look away, and he wasn't sure he really wanted to know after all. Dove moved away to a rack of toys and things that Jay didn't want to look at too hard, coming back with something that made Simon smile. When Dove dropped his hand to his leg Jay could see the cat, could see how hard Dove was in his tight jeans, and he could hear Damon beside him inhale sharply. "Stunning," Damon said under his breath and Jay agreed. They were. "What are they talking about now?" he asked, the need to know overcoming his shyness. He didn't think Damon was going to laugh at him. "Dove only does what he's asked, so the rules have to be laid out. He'll need to know when to stop - if Simon's gonna wait for you to fuck him after Dove's flogged him, or if he'll let Dove

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do it." Damon was matter-of-fact about it, but Jay could see the tightening of Damon's hand on the table. Maybe the guy wasn't so okay with it after all. "I think, I think he's gonna let Dove do it. I said I couldn't." Jay managed to look away from the stage so he could see Damon's face. "Not afterwards, not if he's, he's. I'm sorry," he added, in case it bothered Damon that Dove was going to fuck someone else in front of an audience. "I guess there's a lot I can't do," Jay went on quietly. "I keep trying, though. I have to. You know? Does it, um, does it bug you? That Dove's gonna fuck someone else up there?" "Sometimes. Sometimes I feel like if he has to do it one more time I'll break apart. But not this time, if that's going to bother you. This time I want to see." He leaned closer again. "Not so much that I want to see Dove fuck Simon, but I want to see him do what he needs to with someone that can take it." Damon's eyes flicked to the stage when Dove's voice said "Keener" and the other man who Jay had assumed was the whipping master called it out to the room. "Jay, listen now," Damon said. "They need this, and you and me, we're not like them. But we need them, the same way they need this. So when it starts, when - " Simon cried out and jumped and there was a slapping sound. Wasn't that backwards? But then it came again and it had started. Damon moved closer to him and Jay watched as Dove did what Simon needed. It hurt to watch, but it hurt more to hear. Every time the cat came down on Simon's skin, Jay jumped. He finally had to put his hands over his ears so he didn't have to listen, but he couldn't look away. Dove was riveting, the way he danced around Simon, wielding the cat with what even Jay could recognize as a strong skilled arm. Was this what Chet had done to Simon in the Dungeon, way back when? Had Chet danced like that? Had Chet been that beautiful and that scary, dangerous and focused and hard inside his jeans? Jay could understand why you'd want someone like Dove to whip you, if you were into whipping - it was always more exciting when the Dom was that hot. Watching Simon was making him hard in spite of himself, making him squirm in his seat, making him almost unconsciously push his hand inside his cargo pants and stroke the base of his cock. Something about that was so wrong it twisted his stomach - his Simon, the man he loved, the man who loved him, up on stage, spotlit in front of a paying audience, getting flogged so he bled, and here Jay was getting off on it. But Jay couldn't turn away. He watched with sick, aroused fascination as Dove worked, as Simon's chest heaved and Simon's cock stiffened and swayed. Jay wanted it. Wanted Simon. Wanted that cock inside him, wanted Simon's hips thrusting, hands digging into him, wanted that shiny steel ring stroking his prostate every time. He bit back a moan. He wasn't sure, but he thought he might hate himself for this.

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Damon shifted next to him, muttering a low "Oh, shit," and Jay saw Damon's hand going to his own zipper. "Listen to me, Jay," Damon whispered, voice strained now, not so low and soothing anymore. "This thing they do? They need it. There's something in Dove that he has to let out, something that if he didn't do this, didn't hurt someone who needed it, would come out anyway. If it wasn't like this, he'd be outside, hurting someone, maybe hurting someone badly." Damon shifted again, one hand in his jeans now, the other still around the back of Jay's chair. "Simon asks for this. Maybe there's something in him he needs driven out, I don't know. But I can tell you that it's okay to see something beautiful here, because they are beautiful. Something is happening for them that they need. Something we can't give them, but it's okay for us to see them like this, it's okay for us to see them freeing themselves." Damon stopped long enough to gasp and Jay could hear his need, could feel the echo of his own arousal in Damon's voice. "It's okay to love and not be able to do this for them," Damon said finally and Jay watched the stage, fascinated, as Dove danced, one hand popping the button on those jeans as his arm came down again. "It's not okay," Jay whispered, because now he could see the blood, drops glistening on the cat as well as trailing down Simon's skin. "How, how can it be okay?" He'd never been hit except in anger, and now that he could see this evidence of Simon's weird, twisted need he understood him even less. But Damon was right about one thing - Jay needed Simon, and Simon needed this, and in a way it was beautiful. But it was only beautiful because Simon was, because Dove was, because the two of them together were perfect. "They're, they're beautiful together," Jay said, his breath coming short. "But the blood... And it hurts, how can it be beautiful when it hurts so much?" His eyes were hot. He blinked. "I can't do that for him. I want to. I swear I want to. And I can't. I don't care. I can't." "It's outside of you," Damon said softly. "It's outside of me. I sat here once for two hours and watched strangers - I couldn't do it. Dove walked in and I came in my pants. You love Simon? He needs this sometimes. You don't want to hurt him like he needs? That's okay, too. Be a safe place for him. Be the one good thing he needs. But don't think there's something wrong in getting off watching him get off. The blood makes you sick, the noise? Block it. Look at his eyes. Look at his cock." Damon's advice sounded like something Simon would say - Block it all out, just concentrate on me, my voice, my hand right here. Sounded like something Simon had said. "See how much he needs to get that thing living in his gut out?" Damon went on. "This is doing it. My Dove is taking care of it for you, and he's no threat. No way you're going to lose Simon to Dove or anyone like him. This is temporary relief and when he's done he'll be looking for you and your arms and your mouth. And you'll be there for him."

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Dove spun on the stage, hair flying out, cat flying out, and Simon was gasping. Simon was the most beautiful thing Jay had ever seen, and Jay loved him so much and wanted him so badly he couldn't breathe. He tried to block out the blood, like Damon suggested. He really tried. He watched Simon's face and his cock and the way the spotlights shone on his Prince Albert, and he watched Dove's face and hips and the way the light caught in Dove's hair. And he tried to ignore it but Jay knew Simon was bleeding, and he couldn't help it, Damon didn't know about the Russians, didn't know about the night those two guys brought Simon home so badly beaten he could barely stand. Damon didn't know what blood on Simon's skin meant to Jay. Damon was right about the need, but didn't know the history. And then Dove's jeans were open and his cock was hard and huge and Dove was pounding into Simon, fucking him with abandon, and Jay wasn't sure but he thought someone in the audience cried out. It looked like Dove said something in Simon's ear and then Simon's head dropped back and his entire body trembled as Simon came. "Fuck," Jay whispered, the public-ness of this place the only thing keeping him from undoing his pants and jerking off. Damon wasn't so shy, sitting there right next to him, his jeans open, hand pulling at his cock under the table. "Fuck," Damon echoed, his hips thrusting sharply. On the stage Dove thrust into Simon again and screamed. "Oh, fuck, yes." Damon came beside him and head dropping to the table. "I'm sorry, Jay," Damon said, when he looked up again. "I'm sorry they're like this, I'm sorry I can watch it, and I'm sorry I just got off watching when you're here right next to me. I wish I could make it better for you." Jay turned to Damon. He didn't know what to say. "Do you love him?" Jay asked. Damon looked at the stage and sighed. "He'd kill me if I said yes." "But do you?" "Yes." "Then don't apologize." He, too, looked at the stage, where Dove was pulling out and someone was taking Simon down. "I love him so much... And I can't do this for him. He needs it, sometimes I think, I think he needs it more than me." Jay turned to Damon. "Thanks for, for talking to me, and

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sitting here, and, and trying to make me see. You talk to me like Simon does. Like you're trying to get me to do something I don't wanna do." He shrugged. "It hurts, that he needs that. That, that I'm not enough, and I can't do it for him." Now he sighed. He wanted to go home. "Will they let me up there? Now? So I can, I can, I dunno, so he can suck me off?" It sounded so crude to say to a stranger, but it was what Jay needed. He'd given Simon what he wanted - a willing audience - now it was his turn. Damon nodded. "Yeah. There, if you want, or out back. Whatever you need. Dove'll be ready to nail me to the back wall - privacy isn't a huge thing here." Damon stood up, doing up his jeans. "Don't think that it's you, Jay. Sometimes people have shit that's bigger than them, bigger than they can cope with. C'mon. Your man's waiting for you, and you've got a need he can take care of." "Thanks." Jay stood up as well. He didn't believe Damon about everything, but he did know Simon had issues that were more than either of them could handle, and suddenly he thought he understood one of the reasons Simon seemed to need this so badly. "Really, Damon, thank you. It helped. I think I get it, or some of it." He went up to the stage. He didn't know what to say to Dove, other than "Wow." All those things Damon had told him seemed too private to repeat. Dove just nodded and melted into the darkness, already reaching for Damon. "So?" Simon croaked. "What d'you reckon?" "I don't know. I didn't puke." Simon laughed. "Can we go home now?" "Yeah, baby, we can go home."

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Chapter Nine Nights later, Jay came awake suddenly, flailing and gasping and temporarily unable to remember what had scared him. He lay there for a few minutes, trying to remember. Simon's arm was heavy and warm around his waist and Simon's breath was soft against his shoulder and Simon's very presence behind him was comforting, but as bits of his dream came back to

him Jay was afraid.

He shouldn't be afraid, though. He didn't do that anymore. He had a different life. He was

safe here. He was.

Wasn't he?

Almost unconsciously he pulled his knees up to his chest, curling into a ball, and that woke

Simon up. Simon had always been a fairly light sleeper.

"Problem?" Simon murmured. Jay shrugged, which really wasn't an answer. "You cold?"

"No."

"Had a dream?"

"Yeah."

"Bad one?"

"Yeah."

"Okay now?"

"No."

"Hm." Jay could feel Simon nuzzling against the back of his neck. Simon's arm moved off

his waist and pulled on his shoulder. "Turn over." Jay did.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," Jay said.

"No worries, luv. What was it?"

"What?"

"What'd you dream?" Simon's voice was gentle, eyes sleepy but concerned. He brushed Jay's

hair out of his face, and Jay loved him, wanted to tell him, but couldn't. "Can't fix it if you

won't tell me what's broken," Simon added.

"You can't fix it," Jay said. "You can't."

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"Can try, can't I?" Jay shook his head again, panic rising in his chest. "Jay, baby, tell me what's wrong." "It's me. It's me. I'm, I'm broken. Inside." Simon blinked at him and quirked an eyebrow. "Dreamed that?" "No. I know. It's, it's, it happened. To me. When - before we left. I couldn't tell you, I'm sorry, I thought, I thought it would go away, and it hasn't." And Jay knew he was panicking but he couldn't stop. He was tired, and scared, and he still thought he'd done something wrong. He wrapped his arms around Simon and buried his face in his shoulder and tried not to cry. "It's okay," Simon said, calm and soothing and sure. He stroked Jay's back, a warm hand tracing slow circles on his skin. "Don't have to tell me. You're shaking." "I'm, I'm scared. I'm sorry." "Don't be. It was just a nightmare, it's a dream." Simon rubbed slowly against Jay, and if he'd been anyone else Jay might have thought it was unconscious, but it was Simon and Jay knew better. Maybe it was a distraction, Simon getting Jay hard to take his mind off the things that scared him. And in the meantime Jay had his face pressed into Simon's shoulder, and Simon kept stroking his back, and Simon was still talking to him in that voice Simon used when Jay was freaked out about something. "You had a dream, that's all," Simon said softly. "Can't hurt you, can't touch you. It's not real. Feel my hand? That's real. My voice, my shoulder" - he shrugged slightly to make his point "you. Something solid. Won't let anything hurt you. Won't let anyone touch you. I'll take care of you. Always have done." He waited a few beats, and when Jay didn't say anything, Simon added "Gonna sleep now?" "No. I'm sorry." Because Simon couldn't know, because Jay wouldn't tell him - it wasn't just a dream, it was real. It had happened. It could touch Jay, and it had hurt him. "Stop apologizing." Simon pressed a kiss to the top of his head, then tilted his head back so they could look each other in the face. "I'll make it better, yeah?" And then Simon'd pushed Jay onto his back and was kissing a line down his chest, his belly, to his groin and his cock, hard now from the slow, steady rubbing of Simon's body against his, and as Simon's mouth closed around the head of his prick Jay wanted to protest that this wasn't what he wanted at all, but he couldn't say a word, because Simon was sucking him in deep, lips pulling, throat muscles working.

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Jay twisted one hand in the sheet and one hand in Simon's hair and bit his lip to keep from sobbing out loud. His back arched, his hands clenched and he swallowed his cries as he shot down Simon's throat. Simon stayed down there a little longer, gentling him, and then slid up Jay's body to kiss him. Jay wrapped his arms around Simon's neck and held on tightly. "It's okay, baby, it's okay," Simon murmured. "Better dreams now, yeah?" "I don't know. Maybe. I love you." "I know." "I'm so fucking tired," Jay said into Simon's neck. "I'm tired of being scared, and, and I'm tired of being tired, and I don't know anymore, but I hate it and I can't, I can't forget it - " "Jay. Shh." Simon's arms tightened around him. "It's okay now. Sure you don't wanna talk about it?" Jay shook his head. "Right. Then go to sleep. 'S late." Jay closed his eyes, listened to Simon's breathing, unconsciously changed his own breath to match. As he was drifting off Simon mumbled, "Trying to take care of you, promised I'd try," and Jay whispered, "It's not your fault," so softly Simon couldn't hear. "It's not your fault," Jay repeated. "It's mine." *** One thing had nothing to do with the other, Jay’s nightmares and Simon's own health, but in the morning when Simon woke up, he felt like shit. Jay seemed to be fine when he went to work, but Simon took the day off. He asked Devon to rent him a movie or two, and was watching a DVD when Jay finally came home. The Mikes had ordered a La-Z-Boy, of all things, which had come that morning, so Simon had signed for it and then stretched out in it. It was pretty comfortable and he'd even managed to doze off a couple of times. "You're home late," he observed, as Jay shrugged out of his coat and slung it on the coat rack. "You go out after work?" "Yeah." Jay yawned. "What're you watching? What's that?" Jay waved vaguely at the La-ZBoy. "It's an elephant." Simon grinned. Jay just looked confused. "The Mikes bought a chair. Come, sit." He patted the armrest and shifted around as Jay came over and studied it. "It's a La-Z-Boy. You sound like crap." "Feel like it, too."

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"You felt okay this morning. I won't fit." "Sure you will." Simon wiggled his hips invitingly. Jay blinked and yawned again, then shrugged and settled sideways on Simon's lap. Jay curled against him and rested, head on Simon's shoulder, and Simon put his arms around him and shifted a bit underneath. For such a skinny boy Jay was kind of heavy. Maybe it was the weight of all that history. "Where've you been?" "Cate's boyfriend's band was playing at this club. The Spam. That's the band. They're really loud. It's like garage rock or something, guitars and screaming. But the crowd was all into it. Dakota bought me a beer. Two. And then Beata's girlfriend bought me a, a, I don't remember. A drink. Not beer. Although Beata bitched her out, 'cause I'm underage. She didn't know Dakota bought me beer, or she'd've bitched him out, too. I'm kinda buzzed." Simon grinned at Jay's tired stream-of-consciousness. He was an adorable drunk. "What's this?" "'Queer as Folk.' Devon was kind enough to rent it for me before vanishing. I said 'Bring me a movie' and this is what I got." "Oh. Is it good? You'll have to tell me what's going on, I've never seen it. Who's the blond guy? He's cute. He's naked. They're both naked." Jay sounded surprised but not entirely unpleased. "Devon got you porn?" "It was on cable. It's not porn." Although parts of it were pretty pornographic, as prime-time TV went. Not that Simon minded. "The blond boy's Justin. He's about your age." "He is?" Jay squinted at the TV. "Who's the other one?" "Brian," Simon said helpfully. "Everybody wants Brian." "Like you." "Nah, he's too old and slick for me." "No, I mean everybody wants you." "That so?" Jay nodded, head brushing against Simon's cheek because of the way they sat. Jay settled lower into Simon's lap, slouching in the armchair and tilting his head to get a better view of the TV. "Yeah. It's so. I don't blame them." Jay shrugged. "Are they a couple?" "Not really. Justin's in love with Brian who's in love with Michael - his best friend - although he won't admit it - Michael's in love with him and living with Dr David. His chiropractor. Something like, anyway." Simon was vaguely impressed with himself for having understood

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that well enough to explain it, and then he realized he must sound like his mum telling someone the plot of “Eastenders,” and he was amused. "It's a gay soap. With fucking."

"Guess it is, at that." Simon kissed the top of Jay's head. "I've been watching all day. There's

lesbians, but I fast-forwarded those parts. Except for the kissing. Too many scenes with

babies."

"Babies?"

"One of the lesbians had a kid. Used a turkey baster." Simon grinned as Jay twisted in his

lap, trying to look at him.

"Huh?"

"Insemination, luv. They're all queer on this show, that's why it's 'Queer as Folk'."

"Oh."

The scene had shifted, so Simon pointed and said "That's Michael - the little guy with the

brown hair."

"He looks like the other Michael. From, from L.A.."

"He does. He wanted you."

"Who?"

"That bitch Michael."

"He did not." Jay snorted, sounding remarkably like Simon. Simon grinned. Jay was so cute,

and so clueless sometimes.

"Oh, he did so. Wanted you bad, he did."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why'd he want me?"

"Because I did," Simon said. "Because you're sweet and sexy, and you're beautiful when you

come." Jay said the last four words with him and they both laughed. "Because he did, baby. Because everyone wanted you."

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"Not like you did. They just wanted to fuck me, or, or wanted a blow job." Jay sounded halfasleep. The boy had to be tired and happily drunk, Simon mused, otherwise he wouldn't have been talking about this. Jay never did when he was fully awake. "So did I. Still do." "Yeah, but you love me." "So I do." Simon kissed the top of Jay's head again. "You're a heavy boy, you know that?" "All that beer," Jay murmured. "Is this a good show? We're missing it. I'm making you miss it." "It's a DVD. We can rewind." "I'm not sure what's going on." "That's because you started from the middle." "I like the fucking and the naked guys, though. I think I wanna watch it again when I'm awake. Will you tell me what's going on?" "Of course." So they sat together in the Mikes' chair and Simon explained the show to Jay, and when Jay fell asleep ten minutes later Simon kept watching until the end. He didn't want to wake Jay up, and except for the fact that Jay's ass was digging into his thigh in a weird place, he wasn't entirely uncomfortable with the boy sleeping on him. It was kind of cozy. Besides, Jay was too cute curled against him, snoring softly into his collarbone and gone all boneless like a baby. They'd probably both be stiff in the morning - and not the good kind of stiff, either - but for now it was okay. Simon hit buttons on the remote to stop the DVD and turn the player off, then snuggled deeper into the armchair and pulled Jay closer. If nothing else, Jay kept him warm. "You were never like that," he whispered into Jay's hair. "Like Justin. Not that... self-assured. He's cute, but I'd rather have you." Jay mumbled something and Simon grinned, although Jay was probably just talking in his sleep and hadn't heard a word he'd said. "Wanna go dancing now," Simon went on, "take you with me. Borrow Devon's boyfriend's vinyl trousers." Jay shifted against him. "Keeping you up, am I? Sorry 'bout that." He pressed a kiss into Jay's hair, breathing in the scent of crowded music club, and sighed happily. "Better dreams, Jay baby. Hope you don't have a headache in the morning." And in less than a minute he too was asleep.

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A cramp woke him in the middle of the night, and Simon had to shake Jay awake and get out of the La-Z-Boy. Those things just were not meant to be slept in, especially not with your boyfriend sleeping on top of you. Once properly curled up in bed Simon slept heavily and dreamlessly until Jay woke him up

by shaking his shoulder and singing "Good moooorning."

"What's this, then?" Simon asked blearily.

"Breakfast in bed."

"Why?"

"Uh... because? How do you feel?"

"Not sleeping in that chair again, not with you sitting on me." He struggled to sit up. "You're

looking perky, by the way."

"No hangover. It's pretty cool. Are you hungry?"

"Whatcha got?" Now that there was food in front of him, Simon thought he could eat

something.

"Scrambled eggs - Mike number two was making them but he said I could have some -

English muffins with butter and marmalade, bacon - I made that - orange juice, cranberry juice, and coffee. Oh, and grilled tomatoes - I put them in the frying pan after the bacon so they're probably kind of bacon-y." "You do all this yourself?" "Except for the eggs." Jay looked right pleased with himself. "Oh, and the coffee was already

made. You want milk or sugar? Or there's cream in the fridge, I think Taylor left it."

"When was he here?"

"Couple days ago. He came over to make Devon lunch. I'd never met him. He's exactly my

size, which is really weird, except his butt's better."

"Ah, you have a nice butt, luv. You gonna stand there or help me eat this? Kind of a lot for

breakfast."

Jay helped Simon settle the tray on his lap, then gingerly sat on the bed. Simon ate a tomato

half with his fingers. Jay watched.

"Is it okay? Hot enough? Too bacon-y?"

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"Haven't had a proper grilled tomato in years. Place in L.A. did them okay for Yanks, but not

the real thing."

"Do you miss it?"

"Miss what?" Simon crunched into a strip of bacon.

"England. Home. Your, your family."

"Do I miss England? Are you mad?"

"No, huh?"

"Christ, no. If I liked it I'd still be there. Wanted to be free. Too much history there. Mine,

mostly." He eyed Jay thoughtfully. "You homesick?"

"Yeah, I guess. When I was little, and I got sick - caught a cold, whatever - my mom always made me eggs and toast, let me lie on the couch and watch TV and she'd feed me. She really believed in feeding a cold." "You miss her, yeah?"

"Sometimes. She's my mom, you know? She, she's my family."

"I'm your family."

"Yeah, but - "

"Family's supposed to love you no matter what, yeah? Stick by you?" Jay nodded. "If they

treated you like family, you wouldn't be here." Jay shrugged. The boy looked miserable now. Simon sighed. "You wanna call 'em, call. Write a letter. Hell, go visit. But just because you share a name doesn't make you family. You make a choice what you want, and that's worth more 'cause it's your decision. Free will and all that." He blinked, surprised at himself. Evidently a low-grade fever made him philosophical. Jay was looking at him with something that could've been understanding. "You can choose your family, Jay baby," he went on gently. "They did. Don't hold on to them as they don't want you." "Just you, right?"

"Just me." Simon grinned, a sunnier smile than he felt, and held out a muffin half. "Here.

You need it more than me. Put some meat on your bones, yeah?"

"Yes, mom." Jay grinned, too, and helped Simon finish his breakfast.

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A couple days later, when Simon was feeling better, they went dancing. Not to Man Ray, where they'd met Rubber Man and fucked in the bathroom and where Simon had gone with Dove the week he vanished, but to a place called Casablanca, which had bright lights and good music, and tonight must have been some theme night because the bouncers were wearing little red vests and fezzes. Simon liked it there - the music was fun and the boys were cute - even if the bartenders were unnecessarily snarky and the drinks overpriced. Jay seemed to like it, too, or at least liked the music, because once Simon got Jay onto the floor he stayed. He didn't even wig (much) when a random stranger started dancing with them, coming up close behind Simon and whispering, "You two are so fucking hot together." Jay blinked, looking both surprised and jealous, but Simon only grinned. They were hot together. A couple of songs later Jay went to get something to drink and to catch his breath, but Simon kept dancing with the random stranger, who introduced himself as Nero, which made Simon laugh. Nero wasn't a great dancer but he was nice to look at, dark-haired and broadshouldered and filling out his pants exceptionally well; he and Simon made an odd pair but not an unattractive one, and Simon could get used to moving with him. But then Jay came back, looking white and terrified, and said he wanted to leave now, right now, please, could they go, and Simon shrugged apologetically at Nero, said, "Maybe next time, luv," and let Jay drag him outside. "What's the hurry?" Simon asked, as Jay leaned out into the street to flag down a cab. They never took cabs, and Simon liked public transportation better anyway. "Thought you liked it there." "I did, I just - hey!" A cab pulled over. Jay climbed in, gave the driver their address, and waved at Simon, who stood on the sidewalk watching bemusedly. "Come on, Simon, please, we can't, we can't stay here - " "Okay, okay, don't get your shorts in a twist." He got in the cab and settled back as Jay twitched and tried to give the cabbie directions and they probably got taken the long way anyway. Jay bounced out of the cab and ran into their building and up the stairs, leaving Simon to pay for the cab, which ticked him off but amused him as well. He followed more slowly, wondering what had gotten into his boy, and was surprised to find Jay already curled up in bed, buried under the covers. "Something wrong?" Simon asked, although it was a stupid question. "You didn't like me dancing with someone, you could've said. I'd have given him the shoulder, no problem." "Wasn't that," Jay said, sounding muffled. The boy's chin was tucked in, his voice trapped in the space between his knees and his chest.

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"What was it? Took off like you'd seen a ghost." Simon kicked off his boots and peeled

himself out of his clothes and climbed into bed next to Jay. "Someone say something?"

"No."

"Someone not say something?"

"No."

Simon sighed. He thought he knew Jay well enough by now to have figured out that

something serious was going on. He just had to get Jay to tell him what it was. He scooted

closer, spooning against Jay's back, and pulled gently on Jay's thigh.

"Stretch out, luv," he said, "you'll get a leg cramp. Tell me what happened, because I know

something did."

"Nothing happened. I, I saw someone. That's all. It's nothing. Really. I'm sorry." But the

boy's voice was shaking.

"Who was it? I know something's wrong, Jay, you don't do that, drag me out of clubs like that." His hand moved to Jay's arm. Jay had gotten into bed dressed for bed, the way he used to, in a T-shirt and his sweats, and that, too, was wrong. "Something's up, baby. I want you to tell me what." "I can't. I can't."

"Sure you can." Why did this feel familiar? Simon had the weirdest sense of deja vu. He

stroked Jay's arm, pressed a kiss to his cotton-covered shoulder. "Make you feel better, get it

off your chest."

He felt Jay take a deep breath.

"Jay? Luv?"

"I. Um. Okay. Okay. I saw, I saw a guy, he looked like, like - I can't. I'm sorry, I can't tell

you."

"Yes you can. Looked like someone you know, yeah? Someone you didn't wanna see."

"Yeah. Someone from, from... before. L.A.. A, a guy in a car, in a suit. You know. I was, I

was standing on the corner, and, and he pulled up, and asked me how much, and you know,

you know the rest."

"Can guess." So that was it. Someone who looked like a john from their former life. "Wasn't

him, baby. Couldn't've been."

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"But how do you know?" "Just do. He say anything to you? This bloke? Tonight, I mean." "No, no, I don't think he saw me. But he looked like - and, and I panicked, and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I was just so scared, I had to leave. We had to leave. I couldn't, I couldn't leave you there." "What did he do to you?" Simon asked softly, his hand still moving up and down Jay's arm, his voice low and gentle. "He can't hurt you. Not here, not while I'm here. Said I'd look after you, yeah? Keep you safe." "You weren't there," Jay whispered, and maybe something had shifted in his head, or Simon had said the magic words, because like a dam breaking he kept talking. "You weren't there and, and I went with him because it's, it was what I did, and if, if you'd been there I wouldn't have gone, and, and, and things would be different, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm just freaking out. But I saw him, someone, just a guy, I know that, I know he's not, he wasn't Him, but he, he reminded me, and I had to get out of there, I had to, I just, I panicked, I couldn't help it. I should know, right? I'm okay here. With you. But I'm not, and it's not, and, and it never goes away, it follows me, you said it would and it did, and I want it to go away and it won't." Jay's voice cracked on the edge of hysteria. Simon slipped down to hold him tight. "Tell me what won't go away. Give it a name, tell it to fuck off." And either Simon was that convincing or Jay really wanted to tell someone and just needed to be prodded, because he eventually came out with it, while Simon held him close and listened. "It's, it's, he - the guy, back in, in L.A., with the car, he - we - he drove somewhere, a parking garage, something, it was private, and I, I - " "I know. Don't have to tell me that part. You can skip some of the details." "Okay. Right. We - that - and, and he was gonna give me the money, but he said, he said he wanted to, to fuck me, too, said I looked like I wanted him to, and I said it was more, and, and I told him how much, and he said, he said I wasn't that pretty." "Lot he knows," Simon muttered, leaning up to kiss Jay's jawline. "I think he didn't wanna pay me at all, he wanted, he wanted to fuck me for free, or everything for almost nothing, and I said, I told him what it was, what, what I cost, and I started to freak, 'cause he was, he was scaring me, and I said okay, no, just give me the money and I'll walk from here, if he wasn't gonna, wasn't gonna give me what I asked he couldn't, couldn't, he couldn't fuck me. I tried to get out of the car, but he grabbed me and, and he said he knew I liked it rough - "

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Simon snorted. Jay liked a lot of things, but rough was never one of them. Not even with Simon, and certainly never with a john. "And I said no," Jay went on, his voice close to breaking, his body shaking in Simon's arms, "I tried to, to talk to him, reason, whatever, I told him how much and he wouldn't do it so I tried to leave, but he wouldn't let me, he grabbed my arm and told me, told me - I can't. I don't, I don't remember." "What did he do, baby?" But Simon thought he knew. He just wanted Jay to say it, so he could get over it. "He, he hit me, in the face, and my nose started bleeding and he told me not to, to bleed on his car, it was expensive, it was worth more than me, and why couldn't I just shut up and do what he wanted, why couldn't I be a good boy for him, but it hurt - I thought, I thought he broke my nose, and I was so scared, I mean they didn't HIT me, usually, or not that hard, and I didn't know where we'd gone and if I jumped out of the car where would I go, and he had such a strong hold on my arm, I couldn't get out anyway, and I tried, but it just pissed him off and he was so strong and so, I don't know, determined, something, like he really wanted me, and, and I couldn't, I couldn't get away. And he, he - it was a big car, a four-door, and he told me if, if I said anything, if I screamed, he'd, he'd, he'd hurt me. He said, he said a lot of things, I don't remember all of them, but he, he - " "He forced you," Simon said. Jay nodded. "'S called rape, baby. Said no, yeah?" "But that's why I was there! To, to do what he wanted, I mean he BOUGHT me, I knew when I got in the car, it's not the same - " "Why didn't you tell me?" "I don't know. You'd tell me I should've known, I shouldn't have gotten in the car, I could've, I could've fought him off. You'd tell me I didn't try hard enough, and what did I expect, I was, I was for sale, anyone could have anything for the right price, I couldn't say no, it wasn't, it wasn't my place. Whores don't get to say no." Fucking hell. Something in Simon's chest twisted. His eyes were hot. He pressed his face into Jay's shoulder. "Oh, Christ, Jay, I should've been there, I never should've left you. I'm so sorry, baby, I'm so fucking sorry." "It's not your fault. You tried to tell me, you always tried to teach me how to take care of myself, and I couldn't do it. I can't. I still can't. That's, that's not your fault, it's mine. I'm stupid, and, and I trust people, I always did, and I think, I think I was lucky until then, and then Ramon - and it could've been me, and I know, I know I'm safer here, now, at, at the store and not on the street, but it still - I dream about it and it happens all over again, but worse, he,

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he hurts me more than he did, and I can't, I can't sleep, and it won't leave, I can't get it out of

my head, it's stuck there forever - " Jay trailed off, trembling and sniffling, and Simon was

furious.

He was furious Jay never told him, and he was furious with the john, and he was most of all

furious with himself for not being there.

"It's over, baby," Simon said softly. "It'll be okay. You're strong." Jay shrugged. "You have

me. I'd never let anything hurt you. Not like that. Promise."

"I'm sorry," Jay sniffled.

"Why?"

"Because. I didn't tell you. I made you leave Casablanca, you were having fun - "

"Fuck the club. I can go back. You're more important. Okay? Tell me next time something

happens. Don't wait." He propped himself up and tried to look at Jay over his shoulder. "I'll tell you a secret - if you hide it, it festers. It gets worse. You have to let this shit out, let it go. Leave it behind." "I thought, I thought I could. I did. But I didn't. And you said, you told me it would follow

me, I couldn't escape it."

"Tell you another secret - I lied. You can leave anything behind. Let it out; let it go."

"I'll try. But - "

"Let it go. It won't happen again. You won't let it. I won't let it. Gonna keep you here, baby,

with me, where you're safe."

"Promise me."

"Promise." Simon pulled on Jay's shoulder and when Jay turned to look back, Simon kissed

him. "Won't let anyone hurt you. You're my boy, and I love you. Got that?"

"You don't hate me?"

"Why would I hate you?" Simon was genuinely puzzled.

"I don't know. I thought you might. I think, I think that's why I never told you. Because I

was, I was damaged, and I thought, I thought you wouldn't want me, and you, you'd hate me

for, for being weak."

"You're not weak, Jay. I don't hate you."

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"Yeah I am. I can't - "

"Shh. Said to let it go."

Jay rolled back onto his side, his back to Simon, and drew in a hitching breath. "I'll try. I

promise. I'm still sorry for making you leave the club. We can go back."

"Okay. We'll go back." Sometimes it wasn't worth it to argue. "Think you can sleep now?"

"Maybe. I'm tired."

"Go to sleep. I'll be right here."

"I know."

"I love you."

"I know that, too."

Simon grinned. "Course you do."

And there was nothing more to say, so he held Jay until the boy was asleep, breathing gone

slow and deep and even, and Simon listened and thought how glad he was that they'd left while they were still standing.

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PART SIX – BOUND IN BLOOD Chapter Ten Jay hated Not a Nice Place. He hated places like it. Ironic that he and Simon were only here because he'd dragged them, because he'd decided the only way to understand Simon's need to be flogged was to be flogged himself. They were only here for Dove. They were only here so Jay could bleed. And they were here despite Simon's better judgment, or so Simon had protested. Jay looked around the club, dark and smoky, trying not to listen to the man on the stage. He looked for white blond hair and a slinky, loose-limbed body that wasn't so very different from Simon's, but really was. What he saw was a man with dark hair, turning from the bar and suddenly meeting his eye. Damon didn't look away, just reached out an arm and tapped someone else and then Jay could see him. Dove, snapping a look at Damon and then over to him and Simon, a predatory smile settling over his face as Dove moved toward them. Jay felt a little sick. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. "Sure you wanna do this?" Simon whispered. Jay nodded. By now Dove and Damon had reached them, and Simon grinned his wolfish grin and said, "Well, hey, pretty bird. Have a proposition for you." Dove smiled at Simon, ignoring Jay altogether. "You know what I do, I know where you are. We gonna play a special game, Simon?" "Not tonight, luv." Simon nudged Jay. "Your deal, baby, you talk to him." Jay swallowed. Dove made him nervous. Dove also made him hard. But most important, Dove could make him bleed. Dove could make him understand. "I wanna play," he said to the blond Dom. "I want you to flog me." Dove looked him up and down, his smile faintly puzzled, but Dove looked at Simon and must have seen something in his eyes because he nodded slowly and said, "Yeah, all right. I'm game." You don't get it, Jay wanted to say. It's not a game. Dove turned to point him to the stage but Damon's hand shot out and touched Jay's shoulder. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" Damon said, his voice as low and soothing as it had been the last time Jay had seen him.

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"What for? Don't tell me it's a bad idea, okay? I've, we've had that discussion. Simon hates that I'm here." He saw Simon raise an eyebrow. "It's true." "You talk," Simon said. "I'm gonna get a drink." He wandered off and Jay turned back to Damon. "Okay. What?" Damon raised an eyebrow. "Calm down. Not gonna try to talk you out of it. If he couldn't, I can't." Well, that was true enough. "You sure you want to do this here, though? I mean, Dove - shit, he'll do it 'cause it's what he does. You're doing it for some other fucked-up reason. Just sayin' you don't need to do it here, if you don't want to." Damon's eyes were pinned on his, tone serious. Dove looked merely interested in the conversation. "Where else would we go?" Jay asked. He and Simon weren't taking Dove back to San Francisco. "Coming here was the whole point. I need, I need - " Fuck. What did he need? "I need to know what Simon feels. I need it from you." He pointed to Dove. "I need it here." He sounded sure, but he wasn't sure. He hated having an audience. But he also didn't know where else to go. Damon nodded and ignored Dove, looking only at Jay, which was sort of reassuring and sort of weird, too. Dove was hard to ignore. "You know how this works. He'll do what you tell him, no more, no less. I'm saying you don't need to do this here, in front of all these fuckwits. Same thing if he does it somewhere else, yeah?" Damon didn't even wait for an answer. "I got a place, not far from here. Dove's toys are there - " Dove suddenly looked more interested and Damon glanced at him. "You think I don't know? Anyway, Dove's shit is there, and it's quiet. You can get what you think you need, and you won't be putting on a show for the world." "I don't - " Jay started to say, but was interrupted by Simon's hand on his ass and Simon's voice in his ear: "Changed your mind, luv? Say you have." "I haven't," Jay said, and Simon frowned. "Damon says I don't have to do it here. We could go to, to his place. Dove's... toys are there." Simon seemed to perk up. "And I wouldn't have an audience." "You do hate being watched," Simon reminded him. "And I don't need it. Didn't have an audience at the Dungeon. Didn't have one before here. Sounds good," Simon said to Damon. "How far?"

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Damon shrugged a shoulder. "Few blocks. Less than ten minutes." Dove was already walking to the door, but he looked back, blue eyes meeting Jay's. "You figure out how much you really want, and we'll talk when we get there." "I guess we're leaving," Jay said. He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or not, but maybe it didn't matter where they went. It was the cat that mattered, and the pain. Theoretically you could flog anyone anywhere. He and Simon followed Dove and Damon back to Damon's place, which really wasn't that far. Simon chatted on about nothing in particular, voice soft and calm. Jay knew Simon didn't want him to do this and was grateful he'd come along anyway. And then they were there, and Damon was letting them in, and Jay knew what he wanted. He knew what he needed. "Do to me what you do to him," he told Dove, gesturing to Simon. "Make me bleed." Dove snorted. "You sure about that? You really want to be tied down and hurting, blood running down your back? What the fuck for, nothing in you that has to get out." Dove walked past him into the apartment and said, "I'll get my shit, Simon, you talk to your boy. You know I play by the rules; make sure he knows." "Still think this is a bad idea," Simon muttered. "You know what you're getting into, yeah? You know the rules?" "Make sure the, the requirements? Whatever Dove's gonna do - make sure he knows - and I know - before he starts. I can use the safe word." He wasn't going to, but he knew he could. That's what they were for. "There's more?" "Dove'll do only what you tell him. You wanna bleed, he'll do that. You don't, he won't. He's not gonna push you past what you asked for." Simon touched his cheek. "Why are we here?" "I need to know what you know," Jay whispered. "I need to feel what you feel. I need to understand. Don't argue with me, please, we talked about it, don't try to talk me out of it again. Please, Simon, I need to know." Simon sighed. "Right. You want Dove to bleed you with the cat, then. You want him to fuck you." Simon's voice was hard. "It's what I get, luv. You want it exact, that's it." Jay nodded. "You sure?" "I'm sure. I have to know. I have to." He knew he sounded desperate, but this was his last option. If he couldn't understand Simon he couldn't give Simon what he needed, and if he couldn't give Simon what he needed, Simon would leave him for someone who could. That was what he believed and nothing would change his mind.

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Now Simon just looked resigned, but ushered Jay inside the apartment and the two of them went to find Dove. Damon showed them to a bedroom, said it wasn't his and they were welcome to stay if they wanted to. "Too late for the bus, anyway." Dove came in and ignored them both as he and Damon went through a big bag he'd brought. Rope and leather straps and a gag were tossed on the bed, then Dove started laying out other things, things that made Jay stare, his stomach in knots. A whip, a couple of crops, a leather paddle, a cat. Dove looked at Jay, his eyes serious. "You set then? You really want to play with me?" Jay nodded. Maybe "want" wasn't the right word, though. "I need to," he said softly. "I need to know. I think, I think if anyone can make me understand, you can." Nothing in you that has to get out, Dove had said. But that was wrong. There was something, Jay just couldn't name it. Dove nodded. "Okay. Get naked, and Damon here will tie you up. You want like Simon, right? The whole deal?" "The whole deal. Make me bleed, fuck me hard." Jay wasn't sure but he thought Simon flinched, and he was sorry, he'd make it up somehow, but he had to do this. He had to understand. Dove smiled then, and nodded to Damon. "Need the other stuff, too, then." Damon didn't say anything, just left the room. Dove took everything but the rope, leather and the cat and put it back in the bag, then looked at Jay again. "You listen to me. This is important. I'm good at this, and I know what I'm doing. You and me are playing a game of trust here. You trust me to take you as far as you can go, and I trust you to know your limit. You give me your safe word, and you damn well better use it if you want to. I don't want to face Simon if you don't." Dove thought at moment and added, "Or Damon, for that matter. By the way, you do know he's gonna watch, right?" "Who, Damon?" Jay said. He hadn't known that, but it made sense. And Jay trusted Damon, as much as he trusted anyone he didn't really know. "Okay. That's okay. I know the rules. I'm not stupid." But his voice was shaking. "Don't have to do this, baby," Simon said. "Yes I do." He nodded at Dove. "Got an audience. What now?"

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"Now we set the stage," Dove said, his voice low. "Simon, lend a hand? Get him naked." Damon came in right then, holding gauze and tape, antiseptic cream, and a pair of scissors. "For after," he said quietly, meeting Jay's eyes. Then he handed Dove a condom and lube. "For during." "You heard the man," Simon said, pulling on Jay's shirt. "Get naked." Simon's hands were warm and strong and efficient as Jay let Simon peel off his clothes. Jay tried to put himself in Simon's head, tried to imagine what Simon would have thought, but he couldn't do it. "You're tense," Simon murmured in his ear. "Relax, luv. You wanted this, yeah? You wanted to feel it. You wanted to know. This is how it feels - it's anticipation and nerves. Feel it in your balls, your prick. The back of your neck. Tingling." While Simon talked those hands moved over Jay's skin, massaging him, warming him up, calming him down. No one could keep him calm like Simon could. "Hurts like fury, but the pain leaves after a bit. Trust Dove. Trust me." "I trust you," Jay said. "Good." Simon went up to Dove, laid a hand on the boy's cheek. "Take care of him, yeah?" Simon said, and Jay could hear the unspoken threat under the words - Hurt him and I'll cut off your balls and choke you to death. Then Simon stepped back, and Jay stepped forward, and let Dove take over. Dove and Damon cleared out one side of the room and Dove swung the cat to see how much clearance was needed. They couldn't secure him with his arms out so Jay found himself on his knees, half lying on the bed, his hands tied down, his back open to Dove. "Last chance to change the game," Dove purred in his ear. Dove was leaning into Jay, and was hard already. "Can go for no blood, can skip the fucking. Your call." "All or nothing," Jay said. His voice sounded strange to him, hoarse and deep. Maybe because of the way he was tied down. "Do to me what you do to him. Everything." He couldn't see Simon's face, and he was glad. "Right then. One second." Dove's heat disappeared and Jay turned his head to see Dove kissing Damon hard, one of Damon's hands at the back of Dove's head, the other pulling Dove's shirt off. Dove tightened his braid and picked up the cat. "Safe word?"

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"Keener." "No," Simon said behind him. "Mason." Their apartment complex in L.A.. "Mason," Dove repeated. "And you say it if you want to." That was all the warning Jay got before the cat came down, sparks settling into his skin at random spots. He'd expected it to hurt, but he was still taken by surprise. He jumped, as much as he could, and yelped, and bit his lip. He wasn't going to cry, dammit, he wasn't. The cat hurt like nothing he'd ever felt - a smack, a sting and a burn, fading before the next spray of sparks. His back arched to escape the tails. His toes curled. He closed his eyes. He couldn't think. It hurt. Goddamn, it really hurt. How could someone possibly like this? How did this turn Simon on? But he had to know. He had to ride it all the way through. He had to feel what Simon felt, he had to understand. He could hear himself breathing. He could hear the squeak of a bedspring. He could hear Dove breathing, and the slight whistle of the cat just before it hit his back, sending another jolt of fire through him. He could hear a soft, needy moan. He only knew it wasn't him. He was pretty sure it wasn't Simon, either. And it still hurt, although the pain was spreading, Dove's pattern - if there was onesubsumed into a covering sheet of fire. It burned now, his whole back, everywhere. He felt tears escaping his closed eyes and making tracks down his face. He felt his consciousness pulling away and hoped like hell he wasn't about to pass out. He thought he heard someone say "Stop it," but that couldn't be him - he could only stop Dove with the safe word, and besides, he'd pressed his face into the mattress and couldn't say a thing and still be heard. He thought he could actually feel it when his skin split and his blood began to leave him. He imagined what it looked like, all the little lines opening on his back, red welling up and sliding down his sides. His breathing sounded so harsh. So this is what it's like, Jay thought distantly. He felt detached. After a while the pain really did take you out of yourself. He was nothing, he was no one, he had no problems, no worries, no fear, just the slap and sting of the cat and the dim memory of blood warm on his skin.

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He could almost understand. He didn't know how to tell Dove he needed to come, he needed it over. He felt balanced on a knife edge, something building inside him that only Dove could release. He was lost, floating on sensation, too much and not enough, unable to make it all work, fighting to reach the end. He became aware of loss - loss of the cat, loss of the sting and bite and suddenly he was opened, slick fingers making way for Dove, no time wasted, and he was being driven. "Fuck me hard," he'd said. Dove listened. And it was what he needed. It sent him right over and in what felt like no time at all Jay was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood and sobbing through his teeth and coming until he thought he'd pass out. Dove slammed into Jay, kept going through Jay's orgasm and finally froze, still and silent as he came. Jay could feel him, could feel his cock, could feel fingers digging in, could feel Dove's breath. Then Dove was pulling out, slow and smooth, and Simon was there. "Don't ever do that again," Simon hissed. Jay wouldn't. Simon untied Jay, pulled him up onto the bed, and carefully but quickly cleaned off his back and taped down some gauze. Jay figured Dove and Damon had left them alone. He pressed his face into the pillow and tried to suppress the shakes he felt coming on. His back hurt. What had he done? What was he thinking? All he'd accomplished was blood on his skin and Dove inside him. And it was never Dove he wanted. Dove couldn't make him understand. Dove couldn't make him feel what Simon felt. Now he'd never know, and he was going to lose the one he loved because he couldn't figure it out, couldn't share it, couldn't accept it. When Simon was finished he lay down and pulled the blankets over both of them. "Was it worth it?" Simon asked curiously. Jay shook his head. "Didn't think so. You're never gonna know why I need it. Never gonna understand, 'cause you're not me." "I'm sorry," Jay whispered. "Don't be." Simon stroked the side of his face, wiping away the tears drying there. "You don't have it in you. It's okay. I like you that way."

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What had Dove said? Nothing in you that has to get out. Maybe he was right after all, and

whatever thing inside Simon that he needed whipped out had no correspondence inside Jay.

"I tried, Simon, I did. I swear I tried. I can't, I can't do it."

"So stop trying."

"Promise you won't leave."

Simon rested his fingers on Jay's lips. Those pale blue eyes were sad. "Told you once, didn't

I, don't turn into me. Can't watch you do this, Jay."

"I'm sorry."

"Promise me something. Stop following me into the dark. I gotta go there, just something in

me wants it, but I need you when I get back." Simon leaned forward, kissed Jay lightly on the

mouth. "Need you to pull me out."

"But what if, if something happens, I won't - "

"Not literally, baby." Simon smiled. Jay blushed, embarrassed. He knew that. "Not a Nice

Place, Dove's place. Let me go, but don't come with. I'll always come back. I'll promise if it

means you'll stop this shit."

"I'll stop this shit."

"Then I promise."

They lay there for a few minutes just looking at each other, each of them thinking. Jay turned

his head, nuzzling into Simon's hand.

"Simon?"

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me?"

Simon grinned, then sobered. "Can't put you on your back," Simon said.

"I know." Jay reached down between them, felt for the waistband of Simon's jeans. He

tugged at the button. "But I want to feel you inside me. I want, I want to see you come."

"Do you, now." Simon wiggled out of his jeans and pulled Jay on top. "They leave the lube

for us?"

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"I don't know." Jay bent and gave Simon a hungry open-mouthed kiss, rubbed against him determinedly. Jay needed this too, needed to be fucked by someone who knew him and loved him, needed to give Simon something in exchange for doing this with him. Simon's hands closed on either side of his face and Simon's legs wrapped around his thighs and Simon sighed into his mouth. "Or you wanna fuck me?" Simon grinned. "I wanna make you come," was all Jay said. "Did you, before? Watching me? Watching Dove?" "No." Jay pulled his head back. "No? I'm not, I don't make you hard?" "Not laid open and bleeding. Not a voyeur, pain doesn't do it unless I'm in there with it. And for sure not your pain." "Oh. Then, then you didn't - " "I didn't. Damon did, 'cause it's Dove." "Oh, damn, Simon, I'm sorry, I really am, I thought, I thought you'd get off - " "About to now, how's that? Fuck me this time. Make me scream. Make me come. I know you have that in you." Simon paused to spit in his hands and reach down to slick Jay's cock. "Take what you gave up when Dove flogged you. You lost yourself, yeah? Take it back. Give it to me." He kissed Jay hard. "And when your back's healed, I'll throw you down and fuck you into the floor." Oh, yeah. Jay carefully settled Simon's legs over his shoulders and equally carefully pushed himself in. Both of them hissed at the burn and Simon's jaw clenched, cords standing out in his neck as Jay drove himself deep and started to thrust. "Oh, fuck, baby," Simon gasped, "so good, you should - ah, Christ - harder - more often - " Simon's hands trailed down Jay's back, making him wince, and latched on to his ass. Jay thrust harder, dipping his head for a kiss and then another, his hands on either side of Simon's head, his eyes on Simon's face. He understood this, the way they rocked together, the sound of their breathing and the smell of their skin and the look on Simon's face as he got closer and closer to climax. Simon's eyes were cloudy and wide, lips curled up in a grin, and Jay had never loved anyone so much. "Gonna come soon," Simon panted, one hand leaving Jay's ass to stroke his cock, the other reaching for his face. "Wait for me, yeah? This is how it should be - no cat, no blood, just us - no safe word, no games. Something pure."

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"Simon - Simon - "

"Right here."

"Shut up," Jay said, and Simon laughed breathlessly. "Serious. Please. Just, just look at me,

okay? Look at me."

"I am," Simon whispered. "You're beautiful, baby." And Simon pulled Jay's head down and

kissed him as they both came.

Jay collapsed panting on his chest and for a minute neither of them said anything.

"Thank you," Jay said finally.

"For what?"

"For, for coming with me. For not talking me out of it. For, for, for this. For everything."

"This is it, yeah? It's over now. You'll stop being such a bloody fool?"

"I'll stop."

"Believe I'm not gonna leave you for someone like Dove?"

"Yeah." This time it was just easier to lie, because despite everything - Simon's words,

Simon's actions - Jay still wasn't sure. Maybe history would bear him out, and maybe it

wouldn't.

"I'm gonna stick around, luv, but not to watch you hurt yourself. Now off, you're heavy for

such a skinny boy." Jay pulled out and rolled off - carefully - and lay on his side. He couldn't

sleep on his stomach. Simon scooted over, an inch between them, and dropped a hand on

Jay's hip, stroking lightly.

"I'm sorry," Jay said softly. "For, for making you watch. But I'm glad you came with me. I

couldn't have done it by myself."

"Said I'd take care of you. This is just part of it."

"I love you."

"I know."

"I'm sorry," he said again, taking Simon's hand off his hip and lacing their fingers together.

He shifted backwards until he could feel the slight pressure of Simon's chest against his

abused skin. Simon's arm shifted to hold them close.

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"It's okay. Now shut up about it, yeah? More important things to worry about."

"Like what?"

"Dove and Damon walking in on us."

That shouldn't have been funny, but it was. Maybe Jay was just too drained to keep a grip on

his sense of humor.

"We could, we could give them a show."

"Already did."

"I guess. I won't do it again, Simon. I can't."

"Good. Now go to sleep. Be stiff in the morning."

"I'm always stiff in the morning." Jay grinned to himself.

"Not like that. Stiff and sore, and when your back starts healing it'll itch. Just want you to

know."

"Got it. Stiff, sore, scratch. I won't scar, though."

"Not on the outside." Simon leaned up to kiss the side of Jay's jaw. "No one'll know. Just us."

Simon's voice sounded tired. "Better dreams now, yeah?"

"Better dreams."

For a little while Jay just listened to Simon's slow, even breathing, and he thought. He didn't

know what Simon knew, hadn't felt what Simon felt, didn't want what Simon needed. He

guessed he could thank Dove for showing him that.

But he still had Simon, and while he wasn't sure how long that would last, he had it now, and

he was grateful.

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Chapter Eleven "Jay."

"Nnf."

"Jay..."

"What...?"

"Sh. Hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Listen."

There it was, barely audible through the wall - moans and sighs, panting breaths, almost

imperceptible squeaking. They could hear voices although they couldn't make out words.

"Reckon Taylor stayed after all," Simon commented. "Sounds like he's worth the distraction."

"We don't sound like that, do we?"

"Louder, most likely."

"Oh. Oh, shit. We really do keep Devon up."

"Dunno what he's thinking when he's listening to us, luv. Could be he likes the background

music, plays his own little movies in his head. Imagines what we're doing." His fingers

stroked lazy circles on Jay's belly, a hint of what was happening on the other side of the wall.

"Simon, we shouldn't be listening. We should, they should have some privacy."

"Door's closed, yeah? That's privacy."

"Yeah, but..." He was getting hard in spite of himself. One of the things he liked about porn

was the sounds boys made as they kissed and licked and sucked and fucked each other. The

actual words, not so much, because the dialogue was always really stupid, but he loved the

moans and the groans and the "oh, yeah, fuck me harder, you feel so good" noises.

Like the noises Devon and Taylor were making.

Simon's hand stroked lower, brushed through the curls at the base of his cock. Jay bit his lip.

He didn't want Devon to know that listening was turning him on.

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"Bet we sound just as hot," Simon whispered in his ear. He could feel Simon's cock hard against his ass, and he swallowed a moan of his own as Simon rubbed up and down. "Stop," he hissed, helplessly. "You sure?" The hand moved, strong fingers closing around Jay's erection and pulling. "Listen to them, Jay. That doesn't turn you on? Turns me on." "It's, it's, it's not right. We're eavesdropping. It's like, um, like listening to, to someone's conversation in a restaurant. The, the person sitting at the next table." But Simon just kept stroking and rubbing, and when Jay closed his eyes he could just about imagine those sounds were coming from the two of them. He could picture Simon's face above him, Simon's cock inside him, both of them panting and moaning and making the bed squeak. It was the noises. It was always the noises. "Love how you feel in my hand," Simon whispered. Simon's cock slid up and down along the crease of Jay's ass, hot and insistent, and this time Jay couldn't quite stifle himself. Simon pushed his top leg forward a little, nudged against Jay's hole, pushed toward the backs of Jay's balls. "So good," Simon panted. "Can you be quiet for me? Wanna fuck you." His hand tightened on Jay's cock, pulled harder. Jay could barely hear the sounds in the other room over his own breathing. "I think, I think - okay. I can. I can. I'll try." Simon let go long enough to lean over him, reaching for the lube, then fell back and kissed Jay's shoulder and neck and the knobby top of his spine as Simon slicked up some fingers and slid them in. "Shh," Simon reminded Jay, mouth against Jay's shoulder, fingers sliding in and out, probing, stretching. Jay pushed back and chewed his lower lip to be quiet. "Gonna be good for me, yeah? Not let them know we're fucking to them." "Okay, okay," Jay whispered. "I'm quiet, see, I'm being, I'm being quiet." "Good boy." A kiss on Jay's shoulder and the fingers retreated, and then Simon adjusted Jay's hips and ass, lifted his top leg a little and his cock was nudging at Jay's entrance, the ring in it warm and slippery, and then Simon was pushing in silence, Jay couldn't believe how quiet, and then Simon was in. Simon held Jay's hip and thrust in and out, and Jay listened to his own breathing and could still hear Devon and Taylor through the wall. He wasn't sure but he thought they sounded close. He wondered what they were doing, who was on top, what position they were in, who had sucked who off first, where their hands were, how they touched, how often and how

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deeply they kissed. He was painfully hard with the visuals. Simon was still silent, the only sounds the slap of flesh on flesh and the wet noises Simon's cock made sliding in and out. And Jay's breathing, which sounded loud and harsh in his own ears. He only hoped the boys on the other side of the wall were too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to him. Simon filled him, like always, but the position was weird, both of them on their sides like that, although Jay was leaning forward a little now, chest and shoulders angling down toward the mattress and pushing his ass up. He felt like he was immobilized, and all he could do was try to push back without making the bedsprings squeak. He didn't really have anything to push off of, just Simon's hand on his hip, holding them together, and his own hand on his swollen cock. And then Simon shifted somehow and his angle changed and Jay caught his breath. "Fuck," he whispered, fisting his cock desperately. "Oh, fuck, Simon. Make me come. Wanna come." "Shh. Not yet. Wait for Devon." "Can't, can't - ohh - oh, oh, fu - fu - " He couldn't catch his breath. He was too afraid to moan but too caught in the pleasure to be quiet. "Shh, baby, shh. Soon, yeah? Soon." Simon sounded like he was out of breath, too. Then Simon levered Jay's thigh up, getting more room, and thrust more slowly, pulling all the way out and pushing all the way in. It was maddening. Jay sucked air and held it, trying to listen through the wall. He couldn't hear anything. Then he did - a long, soft moan, a word that could've been "love" and another that could've been "yes", a grunt, a groan, and then he thought maybe the other boys were done. He could just see them, Devon and Taylor, collapsed on the bed in a heap, flushed and sweaty and hot-eyed. Part of him was astonished and a little nauseated that he could think of his roommate like that, and part of him was scarily turned on. Simon had lapsed back into silence again, but the tempo of his thrusts seemed to suggest that he was ready. Jay rocked back against him, felt Simon's hand under his thigh, holding it up, Simon's breath on his skin, Simon's cock inside him, and he about swallowed his tongue to keep from crying out as he came. He kept pushing back as he clenched around Simon, willing his boyfriend to climax as well. It was weird without sound. It was like being fucked by a mute person.

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But Jay felt Simon's hips snapping, felt the groan deep in his chest, although he didn't let it out, and then Simon was shooting deep, fingers digging into Jay's thigh and hips just pounding into him until it was over. And then Simon slowly let Jay's leg drop and slowly pulled out, and that hand fell forward over Jay's hip to stroke his belly again. "Fuck," Jay whispered. He rolled over. He was a little sticky and had the beginnings of a weird muscle cramp, but there was silence on the other side of the wall and he thought Devon and Taylor might've fallen asleep, and hopefully they hadn't heard him and Simon getting off on them getting off. "Do you think they heard that?" Jay whispered. Simon grinned sleepily. "Dunno. You weren't that quiet." Simon leaned forward and kissed Jay and stroked sweat-damp hair back from his face. "Sounded lovely to me, though. Felt good. Bet you looked beautiful when you shot." Jay blushed. "I, um, came on the bed some. It's kinda wet." "Just kinda?" "Yeah. I hate sleeping on the wet spot. I tried to, to get it on me, I don't care. I know you don't care." Now it was his turn to grin. "Right. Reckon we shoulda pounded on the wall. Like payback, y'know. Poetic justice." "I'm glad you pounded on me instead," Jay said, then blushed deeper. Sometimes he couldn't believe the things that came out of his mouth. But Simon just laughed softly and kissed him again. "Don't need background noise for that, luv." "They sounded, they sounded happy. Like they really like fucking each other. Like they really LIKE each other, and not just as, as, not just for the sex. Is that, do you think that's how we sound to Devon? Like we, we really, we like each other?" "Love fucking you, Jay. Not just like." And Jay grinned and ducked his head and Simon dropped a kiss in his hair. He hadn't been fishing, he really hadn't. But he was glad he'd said that. He was glad that maybe Devon would think they liked each other - loved each other - when he could hear them through the wall. ***

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Simon made a little money modeling for life drawing classes at an art school, and because he couldn't move while the students were drawing him, he thought. This life model business was strange to him. He was used to the nakedness and he liked being watched, but the people who came to draw him didn't see him, Simon Kay - they saw a body. Parts. The curl of his hand resting on his thigh, the muscles in his shoulders. They drew his scars, his belly, his butt, his calves and his cock. They drew the whole of him in quick sketches, or bits of him in more prolonged stretches. But they weren't looking at him. Given half a chance he knew he could move and every boy in the room would cream his jeans, even the straight ones. The girls, too. Given half a chance he'd have everyone on their knees for him, or pushing him to his knees for them. Given half a chance he could turn them all on. But only if they looked at him, only if they saw past the planes and shadows and musculature and structure of his body to the person beneath. Sometimes the instructor would thank him afterwards, and he'd get dressed and leave to catch his bus, as he would after any other job. He supposed he could think of the students the same way they thought of him - as a tool, a means to an end. They paid him decently, considering all he had to do was stand there and show off, and he'd taught himself to relax in ways that wouldn't make him hard. It was a job, nothing more. It was just strange to do something where the end result didn't involve someone getting off, where in fact that was the last thing on anyone's mind. *** Jay was normally a pretty heavy sleeper, but this time something woke him up that wasn't a dream. At least he didn't think it was - he could hear noises, like someone breathing, and a faint creak, and as he woke up more he realized he was alone in bed. Shit. But the noises were clearer. Shallow breathing, panting. He knew that sound. He reached over, flipped on the little lamp on the nightstand, and was momentarily blinded. Then his vision cleared and he saw. Simon sat naked in one of the kitchen chairs, facing the mirror on the back of the bedroom door, watching himself stroke off. Oh. Oh, God. Jay swallowed and he must have made a noise of his own - a whimper, a catch in his breath - because Simon's reflection looked at him and grinned. "Hey," Simon panted. "Hey..." Jay shoved the blankets off and started to get out of bed.

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"Stay." "Stay?" "There." "Oh. O-okay." Simon liked an audience, Jay remembered. Being watched made Simon hard. No problem. He'd watch. His hand strayed to his own cock, which was getting harder by the second, and started to pull. Wait. Lube. There was lotion on the nightstand. His eyes stayed glued to Simon's pale reflection as he reached over, grabbed the bottle, squirted some in his hand, and went back to work. Simon was still grinning at him. And oh, God, Simon was beautiful, his legs spread, feet flat on the floor, his eyes half-closed now and fixed on Jay's face, a blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck to his chest. Simon's nipple ring blinked in the mirror, a tiny steel star in the light from the little lamp, and the ring in Simon's cock vanished and reappeared as that hand stroked up and down. Jay's cock ached. He could come from watching. Jay bit his lip to keep from moaning out loud, feeling a little illicit. He didn't do this often watch someone who knew they were being watched. If Simon was around Jay would rather touch him, instead of watch Simon touch himself. "Beautiful, luv," Simon sighed, and Jay blinked. Now Simon was watching him. He was surprised, although he shouldn't have been, because Simon was always watching him. And he didn't normally like it, especially when he was doing something as private as jerking off, but this? This was different. Simon was obviously jerking off to visions of him. He made Simon hard. He made Simon hot. He made Simon want. "Come for me, baby," Simon whispered, and Jay did, all over his hand and his belly and the sheets. "Come here." Jay practically fell out of bed and stumbled over to the chair, moving in front of it to... what? Straddle his boyfriend and ride out his orgasm? Go down on him? "No, behind me," Simon hissed. "Stand behind. Give me your hand." He grabbed Jay's hand and guided it to his nipple ring, then turned his head and pulled Jay down for a hard, hungry kiss. Jay felt the little steel ring warm between his fingers. He tugged gently, then harder as Simon moaned into his mouth, and he could feel it, could feel the slight rocking of the kitchen chair as Simon's hips lifted, pushing into his hand - he could feel Simon's climax building at the base of his boyfriend’s spine, skittering up that fine skin like lightning until it had to be bursting into Simon's skull and popping behind his closed eyes like fireworks.

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Simon groaned into Jay's open mouth as he came, and Jay was hard again, but Simon hadn't let go, was still kissing Jay greedily, and the only recourse was Jay's free hand on his own cock again, pulling with increasing desperation until Jay came for a second time. "Fuck," Jay panted, when he could breathe again. He pulled away and Simon was grinning at

him, still. "Jesus Christ."

"Had nothing to do with it, luv. You put on a good show."

"I put on a good show? I...? Fuck me."

"Like to. Give us a few minutes, yeah?"

A few minutes. Bloody hell - as Simon liked to say - Jay would give him an entire fucking

lifetime. Just the two of them watching each other get off, the picture in front of him hotter

than anything his mind could conceive.

*** But all things considered, he’d rather watch the pictures in his own head than have to watch himself. If there was no one watching – not him, not Simon, and certainly not anyone else – there was almost nothing he wouldn’t do. So he certainly didn’t mind when Simon called him from work a week or so later to talk dirty to him, because Jay could close the door and stroke

himself off without anyone having to see.

"Jay?" one of the Mikes called through his bedroom door. “Phone."

"For me? Who is it?"

"Sounds like your boyfriend."

"Oh, okay, thanks, Mike. Simon?"

"Evenin', luv," Simon said brightly. “How's things?"

"Fine. Is something wrong? When are you coming home?"

"Not for a couple hours. Had a break, wanted to say hi."

"Oh. Hi."

"Been thinking about you. What I'd do to you if you were here. What you could do to me.

Thinking about you on the stage - "

"Don't."

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"Don't what?" "I don't wanna know what you do there. I don't want you to, to think about me. There. Doing whatever you do." "Haven't heard what I'm thinking yet. Just listen, yeah? Picturing you on the stage, alone, with the spotlight. You're wearing Taylor's vinyl trousers, only these are shiny black, cut close. A black shirt, sleeveless, with buttons. Make it a challenge to get to your skin. There's no one there, just you on the stage and me sitting at a table watching you. Thinking about you. Your hair hangs in your eyes, curls down your neck. I wanna brush it out of your face, let my fingers linger over your skin." "Simon..." "See? Not so terrible. So you're standing on the stage, right, and I'm watching, and you know I'm there. You're smiling a bit, shy and all, and I wanna run up there, rip off your shirt, hear the buttons popping and hitting the floor, wanna taste every inch of you, put my hands on you, make you gasp and moan. You're just standing there and you're so fucking beautiful, Jay, most beautiful boy I've ever seen." "Hold, hold on..." Jay said. "Okay. Sorry." "What was that?" "I, um, I wanted to close the door. I think the Mikes can hear you." "Can they, now. You in the bedroom? They've got the TV on?" "No, they're arguing about gym stuff. I was sitting on the bed reading, I didn't wanna have to hear them. I was afraid they'd ask what I thought and, and what would make me go to a gym. I'd rather listen to you. I like listening to you." "Can't possibly imagine why..." "Don't tease me. You, you make me, you make me want you. When you talk like that. Come home, please? I don't wanna wait for you. I, I don't think I can." "Don't need me there to get off, Jay baby." "But - " "Got my voice, yeah? The memory of me? Think of me thinking of you. 'Cause I am, you know. Thinking of you. Wanting you. Wanting to touch you, kiss you, lick you all over. In my head, in that picture of you and the vinyl pants and the shy little smile, I get up from the table, go over to you. Walk up the two steps, right up to you. Put my hands on your face, kiss you gently. Soft lips you have, you taste like ice cream and coffee. Your hands on my hips,

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my hands on your face, standing so close I can hear your heart beating, can feel you hot against my hip, through the vinyl. I'm so hard for you, want you so bad, I reach for your cock, fondle you through your trousers. A moan, could be either of us, but you're pushing against my fingers, your hands cupping my arse now - " "Simon, please, please stop..."

"Door's closed, yeah? Locked?"

"It doesn't lock - "

"No matter. Lie back. Close your eyes. Picture it. My hand on you, my mouth."

"Oh... oh, God..."

"Where's your hand, luv?"

"You're teasing me. I know you're teasing me - where do you think it is..."

"If you undo that top button you'll have better access."

"Shut up. Just, just shut up. Keep talking to me."

"Can see you now, hand down your pants, straining for me."

"Shut up!"

"Thought you wanted me to keep talking to you."

"That's, that's not what I meant. Tell me about, about, about that, the stage, and, and the vinyl

pants, and you were kissing me and, and - "

"Mmm. Right, then. Give in to it, I do, rip your shirt open, and we laugh as buttons go

pinging everywhere. I push it off your shoulders, slowly kiss my way down your neck, dip

into that hollow of your collarbone, move down your chest, your belly, lick at your

bellybutton, the skin just above your waistband. Can hear you sighing over my head,

encouraging me, telling me how good it feels, my tongue on your skin. You taste like salt

now, soap, a bit of something I can't tell. No one else tastes like you, Jay baby. I wanna

swallow you whole. Can't taste enough.

"I pop the button on those vinyl trousers, ease the zipper down, follow it with my lips, my

tongue. Taste deeper down here, the same but more so. Concentrated. I pull out your cock, admire it, so pretty, long and hard and thick and mine. Stroke it, feel all the ridges and veins and that hot, soft skin, stroke the tip, lick you off my fingers." "Ohh... Simon..."

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"Indeed. Oh, Christ, Jay, you're so hard for me, and I want it all, want your cock in my mouth, wanna hear you moan, feel your arse around my fingers. I push those trousers down your thighs, stroke you to your knees, your skin hot and a bit sweaty. Lick your cock from root to tip, slowly, tasting every bit, oh, it's good, throbbing like a heart, I can feel your heartbeat under my tongue. Take care to get it all, all the damp hot bits of you, all the salt and sweat and need. I can taste that, how much you want me, how you need me. I can see your face, your eyes like a storm, hot and wide, skin flushed, your lips a bit swollen from the kissing, moist and parted and if I was standing I'd be kissing you again, biting your lip, your tongue, claiming your mouth like I'm about to claim your prick. "I pull off and suck on my fingers, and I look up and there you are, looking down at me with that little smile, that sweet, shy smile. And I grin at you, suck my fingers and watch your eyes widen and darken, watch you figure out what I mean to do. Keep my eyes on your face as I tease your hole, slowly work my fingers inside. Hold them still a moment, but you whisper something - Please - and start rocking back, fucking yourself on my fingers. What a sight you are, baby, eyes closed now, your hands in my hair, your lips parted, hips moving back and forth. Gotta taste you again, gotta take you all, so I swallow you down, feel your cock in my throat, start sucking in earnest. Can feel you moving between mouth and fingers, back and forth, harder and faster and deeper, can hear you moaning, know you're close. Wanna make you come, make you scream." "Oh – oh, fuck - Simon, I'm gonna come, I can't, I can't - " "Oh, you taste good, hot and bitter and salty-sweet, and you cry out, cry my name, as you come down my throat. Can feel you tighten around my fingers and I swallow it all, keep sucking, licking, until you're spent, there's nothing left but your hands on my head, gentle now, and your cock in my mouth, heavy and soft on my tongue. I stand up, kiss you, reckon you can taste yourself on my lips." "...." "Want me to give you some time to go clean up?" "Fuck you. Come home. I wanna see you. I, I wanna fuck you for real. Or you can fuck me. Something." "Can't yet. Still got some... things to take care of." "...oh. Oh! Oh, oh, shit, did you - where are you? Can anyone hear you? Or, or see you?" "Locked myself in a little back room. Just me, thinking about you stroking off." "Are, are you - "

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"Am I hard? Leaking? Panting for you? Want me to come for you, like you just came for me? Wanna talk dirty to me, Jay?" "I, I can't." "Sure you can. Tell me what you'd do to me. Tell me I'm hot, I'm sexy, tell me I'm the only one you want, tell me I'm the only boy you wanna fuck, the only boy you want to fuck you." "Yes. Yes. All that. Everything. I do, I want you to come home so we can, we can, I don't know, you can bend me over the couch, or you can, um, we can do it on the kitchen table I'll lie on my back and put my legs over your shoulders and watch your face while you fuck me." "That's good, luv. Keep going." "Okay. Okay. I never wanted to, to be with anyone else after I met you. I only let you cuff me to the bed because, because I loved you. Love you. Still. I don't care that you do - what you do, 'cause you make me hard and you, you make it okay that we're having sex in public, in bathrooms and, and on the beach, sort of, and you do this thing with your tongue that makes me nuts, and I just came all over myself listening to you, and, and in ten minutes I'm gonna be hard again if you keep talking to me and, and telling me that shit, what you wanna do to me and how I taste and how you like to go down on me, and, and every morning, I wake up and I'm already kinda hard because you're right there and all I wanna do is stay in bed with you and touch you and, and kiss you and feel you inside me." "Yeah... Give me... give me a detail... something you want..." "I wanna fuck you. I wanna lick your spine, all the way down from your neck to, to your ass, and I wanna fuck you with my tongue, I wanna feel you bucking underneath me, and I wanna hear you gasping and panting and telling me how beautiful I am, how good I feel, and I wanna hold your cock in my hand and, and squeeze it to keep you from blowing, and, and I want you to come home so I can see you!" "One more... one more... thing... So close now... Say it." "I want you, I always want you... Come for me, Simon." "Oh, fuck - !" "Did, did I do okay?" "Bloody brilliant, Jay. Can't wait to come home and take you up on that." "On...? Oh, the, the rimming... We'll have to be quiet, though, Devon's probably gonna be asleep. I mean, you can't scream for me, he'll get pissed."

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"Can gag me, you know. Don't mind a gag on occasion."

"I can't do that!"

"Why not? Keeps me quiet."

"Because! How am I gonna kiss you? How can you tell me how it feels? If, if I'm doing a

good job? How can you talk to me?"

"Can mumble."

"You're still teasing me. I hate it when you do that."

"Not teasing, luv. Just being difficult."

"Well, don't. But come home. I think, I think I'm gonna have to go take a shower and change

my pants. I'm all sticky now."

"But it's a good sticky."

"I guess. I'm gonna be thinking about you until you come home."

"So you'll be ready for me."

"Unless I've jerked off so much I'm too sore..."

"Now who's teasing?"

"Sorry. Please come home? Leave early, tell them you're sick. I'm all, I'm, I'm getting hard

again."

"That's the idea. Go into the bathroom, luv, run the shower. Stroke off against the tiles. Think

of me thinking of you."

"Stop it."

"Right. Stopped. I oughta go anyway, been in here long enough. Got me all sticky, too. See

you in a couple hours. And don't sleep on the couch, yeah?"

"Okay. Okay. ...Simon?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I know. Gotta go, baby. Bye."

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"Bye." *** Simon had started watching "Queer as Folk" only because it annoyed the crap out of Devon, who would wander through the apartment at ten-fifteen on a Sunday night bitching about how gay men weren't all oversexed drug-taking drama queens. (Simon kept waiting for him to finish with "Just you, Simon," but he never did.) He didn't follow the show regularly but watched it when he caught it, and because he hadn’t paid much attention past season one, when Jay came home with ice cream and wanted to know what was going on, Simon couldn't really tell him. "What'd you get?" he asked instead. "Mint chocolate chip," Jay said, and got two spoons from the kitchen and then sat down next to Simon on the couch. "Want some?" Jay held out a spoon. Simon shook his head. Jay dropped it on the coffee table and dug into the ice cream. Eight minutes later Devon came out of his room and wandered into and then back out of the kitchen, the whole time muttering something about setting the course of gay rights back twenty years. Jay looked inquiringly at Simon, who shrugged. "What was that about?" Jay asked around his spoon. "You haven't heard his rant about oversexed drug fiends?" Jay shook his head. "Lucky you." Sometimes Simon wondered what had possessed Devon to rent the show for him in the first place, back when he was sick and asked the guy to rent him a movie, and Devon had come home with most of season one. He and Jay watched for a bit, snuggled together on the couch with the pint of mint chip, and then Jay stiffened at the scene on the TV and said, "Turn it off." His voice was shaky. "Why?" Simon asked. He squinted at the TV, at the skinny bedraggled-looking kid offering to let one of the main characters fuck him without a condom. "Turn it off!" "Okay, okay." He changed the channel. Jay got up, left the ice cream on the coffee table, went into their room, and shut the door. Simon blinked. He put the mint chip in the freezer and followed his boyfriend. Jay was curled up on the bed with his eyes closed. "It's just TV, luv, it can't hurt you," Simon said, perching on the edge of the bed. He stroked Jay's hip. "Wanna tell me?"

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"You said it would follow me," Jay said. He sounded muffled. "I didn't believe you, and, and you were right. It never goes away, it's just gonna chase me for, forever..." So that was it. Simon lay down next to him and wrapped his arms around Jay's shoulders. "Then I'll stand guard and beat it off with a stick." He grinned against Jay's neck. Jay went on as if he hadn't heard. "Sometimes I forget and it's like this is, is, this is what I always did - the Pleasure Principle, you know? And, and I can forget it. But sometimes - the show - it reminded me and I think that's always who I'm gonna be. I'm always gonna be the boy who, who - you could have me for, like, forty bucks, you could fuck me in the alley, or, or ten minutes and I'd blow you in your car. Less than a year, you know? It's so short, someday I'll look back and think That was it? That's all the time it was? But it takes up so much space in me, it's too big to go away." "Lesson the first," Simon said kindly, "you can forget anything. You can leave anything. Believe me. You just fill that space with something else. I know it's hard, baby, anything good is hard to hold." His arms tightened around Jay as if proving his point. "It'll fade. You'll forget." "I can't. I'm not, I think it's not how I'm made, to forget stuff. It's like it's wired into me or something, and I can't take it out, I can't change to be who, who you want me to be. You said people don't change and I didn't believe you and you were right about that, too." "Because it's true, luv. People're the same everywhere." "I didn't believe you," Jay repeated, like he wasn't even listening. "You said that when I wanted to leave L.A. and come here. You said people were the same everywhere, and I couldn't just move and expect that to change everything else. And I didn't believe you, I thought, I thought I'd outrun it. I could, we could escape. And we didn’t." Simon felt Jay stop to breathe. "How do you do it? You're not, you're always so calm; it doesn't hurt you like it hurt me." Simon raised an eyebrow. "That what you think?" "Yeah." "Huh." To be fair, the hustle itself didn't bother Simon. But the things the hustle did to people he loved - that hurt. "Tell you something, luv - this is all I know. It's a job to me. I've had years to settle in it, so it slides off me." He shrugged. "I'm a hard bloke; I'm built to survive it. But don't think it doesn't hurt me. It hits me through you." As if life was a solid thing, a living organism that walked and took and breathed helplessness down the back of your neck. As if it had motive and means and malice, and no sense but a very black concept of amusement.

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As if life was something you could hurt, could tame. As if you had any choice other than to take the cards you were dealt and play them as you saw fit. You could bluff for a while, but you'd always lose. It was like gambling in one of those big casinos in Vegas - the house always won. Jay still thought he could draw a royal flush, sweep the table, and buy himself something nice with his gains. It was one of the things Simon loved about Jay, even though Simon himself knew better. "Listen to me, Jay," he said now. "The street, and the Dungeon, and all that? Money's good. I'm good at it. But it's all I got." He shrugged. "It still hurts you because it's not you. Was never you. It was... a wrong turn. Food poisoning. You puke, you get it out of your system." Jay snorted. It sounded a little like a laugh. "But I didn't. Get it out of my system, I mean. It's still there. I'm always gonna remember who I was." "Not who you were, baby. What you did. There's a difference." "Not for you." Simon blinked, surprised, because it sounded introspective, but it was wrong. He would deny it to anyone who asked, but Simon knew he was a lot more than just a pretty boy with a tight ass, a pierced cock, and a clever tongue. He was a lot more than just a body for rent. "You really think that?" he asked. "I don't know," Jay admitted. "I don't know anything anymore." Jay sounded tired. "I love you, I know that, and, and every morning I'm just grateful you're still here, and I know you're trying to help me, but nothing you can say will change anything. I can't talk about it anymore, there's nothing left to say." "Okay." Simon curled around Jay, holding tight, breathing in the warm salt of Jay's skin and the faded detergent smell of his shirt and the soft, vaguely fruity-shampoo scent of his hair. "It could've been me," Jay said quietly. "Without, without you. That's what I remember. I see me, I see what I'd be now. Who I'd be. The, the future I didn't get, things like they might've been, what they'd be if, if I hadn't met you, or you hadn't let me move in, or you'd kicked me out, or, or anything. One thing different and I'd still be there. Do you believe in fate? Because I think you're my fate. You're what I was meant to get." Well, now. This was something entirely different. "Maybe I just have to believe that," Jay went on, "so I don't go insane. I have to think there's a reason why things happen. I don't know."

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"Dunno what I believe," Simon said. "But you hold what is, not what could be. You reckon I'm what God wanted you to have?" The temptation was strong to make some crack about God being an especially poor planner, but he swallowed it. "Then the rest of it's just a bad dream, and I can help you forget those." He pulled on Jay's shoulder and Jay rolled over, and then Simon kissed Jay and stroked him and left marks with fingers and lips all down his skin, making him sigh, making him shake, showing Jay the only way he knew that the past was a dead place to live, and here, now, was the only place to be. *** It sometimes occurred to Jay that while his personal past sucked to a terrifying degree, his personal present wasn’t so terrible. There were still good things to be had, in this case his coworkers at the Pleasure Principle. They were always so happy, especially when announcing things like "May is the Merry Month of Masturbation," which Gerry said as he collared Jay to help him set up an appropriately themed display in the front of the store. Barry had already been through and sale-marked some things - dildos, vibrators, porn, Betty Dodson's self-love book and assorted other toys - and Jay must have gotten used to it because answering questions about these things didn't make him blush scarlet anymore. At least, not until someone asked him what he specifically thought about something. He could talk about silicone versus soft-skin dildos, he could recommend restraints and harnesses and lube and condoms, he could try and help you find erotica that you could read to your partner without laughing. But if you asked him what lube he preferred and why, or whether or not he'd ever worn the neoprene cock rings, or did he like leather better, or what did he think about this movie, he'd stammer and blush and mentally kick himself for being stupid. Sometimes he'd just profess ignorance and grab Dakota (who had no shame) or Gerry (who wouldn't embarrass him) and foist the curious customer off on them. You were more likely to find out what Jay liked or what his boyfriend liked if you let it come up in conversation. Or if you were Beata, and kept asking so that he had to tell you just to shut you up. Jay hated it when she did that. She didn't think he should be embarrassed - he worked in a sex shop, for Pete's sake. People were going to ask what he thought about the stock. Besides, it was just sex. He thought about jerking off in general terms as he and Gerry put things out and made little signs and fielded questions from customers. He'd used a dildo once, or rather Simon had used it on him. It felt like a long time ago, back in the days when Simon pushed him to do things he didn't necessarily want to do, just to see if he'd do them. It was a rubber one, good and thick and just pliant enough, but he'd always preferred the real thing, because wouldn't you, if your real thing was Simon? He wondered why Simon hadn't mentioned that this was masturbation month. Or was it just a Pleasure Principle thing?

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"Nope," Gerry said when Jay asked. "It's national. There's also a Masturbate-a-thon for charity." "Really?" "Really. People pledge you money for each minute you jerk off. Do you want a pledge sheet?" He was serious. Jay managed not to blush. "Um. No. Thanks." But maybe he'd take one home for Simon. It combined two of his favorite things: sex and money. It made Jay think about Simon stroking off. It made him think about stroking off himself. It made him blush. It gave him ideas. It prompted him to use his employee discount on something new and blue, and a little bottle of water-based lube to go with it, just in case they couldn't find any in the house. It turned out they had lube, but Jay figured you could never have too much. Besides, the little bottle was cute, and it went with the whole masturbatory theme. He figured Simon would like the present, but he still fidgeted until Simon got home, to the point where Devon had to tell him twice to stop jiggling, and then suggested he cut back on the coffee. Jay couldn’t tell him the real reason he was twitching, and fortunately Devon left the house before Simon showed up. "I brought you a present," Jay said, when Simon finally got home. "Yeah?" was Simon's answer. "Get yourself those leather chaps?" Simon grinned. Jay blushed. "No, stupid, it's for you." "Those were for me, too. Think I'd let you wear them without a good hard pounding?" The grin widened. Jay figured his cheeks were the color of a sunset. Simon laughed. "Just teasing. You oughta know that. So what'd you get me?" "Did you know May was Merry Masturbation Month?" "Yeah. Why? Gonna stroke off for me?" Dammit, that grin was just not helping. "Maybe?" Jay squeaked. "No, I thought, I thought you'd like this." He held out the box. (Gerry had asked if Jay wanted it gift-wrapped. Jay had said no, that seemed like overkill. Gerry had wrapped it anyway and had even managed to wedge the little bottle of lube in the box as well.)

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"It's not my birthday," Simon mused, sitting in a kitchen chair to open it. "Haven't been a particularly good boy lately..." Jay tried not to twitch. Simon was drawing this out on purpose. But then the box was unwrapped and opened, and Simon pulled out the dildo and ran his fingers over its peacock-blue silicone ridges. "What a lovely boy you are," Simon said, "buying me pretty new toys." "I didn't know if you wanted longer or wider, so I went with wider. It's got a little vibrator in the base; it should be in there with some batteries. And, and there's some lube, just in case. Gerry squished it in there. The wrapping paper was his idea." Jay knew he was babbling, but he wanted to watch Simon playing with the dildo he'd bought and the longer they waited the antsier he was going to get. "Ah, here." Simon retrieved the itty-bitty vibe and three itty-bitty batteries, looking up at Jay and grinning a wolfish grin. Simon jerked his head toward the bedroom. "Gonna go try it out. Wanna watch? Or you wanna play, too?" "I. Um." Jay blushed. "Can I, can I, I wanna watch." "Reckoned so." Simon was still grinning. Jay's knees were getting weak and his cock was getting hard. And who was this for, exactly? "Get me a towel, yeah? Then I'll play for you." Simon stood up, collected all the parts of the shiny new toy, kissed Jay soundly, and disappeared into the bedroom, dragging a chair behind. They were home alone but anyone could come back at any time, so Jay found some Post-its and wrote a note - "Do not disturb" - and stuck it on their door. Then he got a towel from the bathroom and went back to the bedroom, where Simon was kneeling on the bed - naked stroking the dildo with a hungry look on his face. Jay swallowed and shut the door a little too hard. Simon glanced up and grinned again. "Come here," Simon said, beckoning. Jay came. "Feel this." Simon switched on the itty-bitty vibe and handed Jay the dildo. It vibrated in his hand. Jesus. Simon took the towel, folded it in half, and spread it on the bed in front of his knees. "Now go sit. Gonna give you a show, I am. As thanks." Simon pointed to the kitchen chair. Jay sat. Simon was half-hard already, Jay noted almost distractedly as Simon lubed up his fingers and slid first one and then two inside himself. Simon's lips parted and his eyes fixed on Jay as he worked those fingers around, stretching and slicking and teasing himself. He lazily stroked his cock with his free hand and when Jay swallowed and licked his lips and unbuttoned his jeans, Simon grinned at him. "Haven't done this in ages," Simon murmured. "Gotten myself ready. Used to your fingers." Simon's hips rocked back and forth between hand and fingers and Jay was mesmerized. It was one of the sexiest things he'd ever seen, Simon finger-fucking himself. Jay unzipped his jeans all the way and slouched a little in the chair so he could get his hand around his own cock.

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"Could do this all night," Simon said, almost panting, breathing shallow - Jay could hear the rasp in Simon's voice. "Could make myself come for you. Could get you up here to suck me off." Another wolfish grin. "Could just tease you, make you come. Hold it myself." "Simon..." "No? Thought you wanted a show." "Don't fucking tease me." "'Course not." Now the grin was more affectionate. "Might be ready. Hard for you now, so hard." "Not for me..." "Always for you, Jay baby." Simon's fingers slid out of his body, and Simon picked up the dildo, letting go of his cock long enough to get the silicone prick nice and slick and ease it inside. "Ohhh..." he moaned softly. "Baby - gotta feel this..." His eyes closed, his mouth opened, the corners turned up in a pleased grin, and he went back to stroking himself as the dildo pumped in and out. No, this was without question the sexiest damn thing Jay had ever seen. He spit in his hands, got a better grip, and pulled on his shaft with a rhythm that matched Simon's. He stared, transfixed, as Simon's hips rolled back and forth and the peacock dildo moved in and out and his hand stroked up and down. Simon's back arched, his skin flushed, he panted and moaned and murmured words, telling Jay how good it felt, how the vibe in the base made the whole thing quiver, how Simon loved the ridges and the thickness that filled him full, how good Jay watching him was, how hot it was, how it made him even harder. "Fucking hell, baby," Simon panted, "look at me - wanna see you - " Hot blue eyes caught Jay's gaze and held him. Jay didn't think he'd ever seen anything so beautiful as his boyfriend kneeling on their bed, stroking off and fucking himself with the vibrating blue dildo. He was a lucky, lucky boy. Simon held the dildo still, teasing himself, and Jay's mouth went dry as Simon lifted his hips and pushed back, his hand and the silicone shaft still unmoving as he rocked back and down. Simon's cock was leaking now, the tip shiny and red, the ring in it like a promise. His skin glistened faintly, sweat beading on his body like he'd been sprayed with water. His face seemed to have softened, the planes of his body, everything. He was gorgeous. He was hot. He was the only thing Jay wanted, now or ever. "Oh, Christ," Simon gasped, starting to lose his rhythm. "So good... So fucking close... Makes me shake." He was indeed trembling, little tremors in the muscles of his chest and belly and neck and arms and thighs, like he was trying to hold in his orgasm. "Gonna come, baby, gonna come so hard..."

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"Wait for me," Jay gasped, "please, please, wait for me, Simon, please - " Jay's fist pumped faster, harder, he could barely breathe with anticipation. Jay felt it in his skull, in his balls, in his toes - everywhere - his climax building and building, not just from the pressure of his own hand but from the sight in front of him, Simon so close, so hard and so hot and all his, this was for him and him alone, and he was going to come, he couldn't hold it, he couldn't wait... "Come for me," Simon rasped, and Jay's hips bucked off the chair as he came all over himself, staining his jeans. "So beautiful, my beautiful boy - " And Simon's breath choked off as he shot between his fingers and came on the towel. It took Jay almost no time to recover, although he was having a hard time catching his breath. But something kept him in the chair, his pants undone and his cock still in his hand, while Simon came back to himself and slowly slid the dildo out of his body. Simon rolled it up in the towel and nudged it off the bed. "C'mere," Simon said, his voice deep and heavy. Jay struggled out of the constricting jeans and climbed on the bed, kneeling in front of him. Simon's blue eyes were dark and unfocused. His face was still oddly soft, like someone had fleshed him out or smoothed down the sharp edges of his bones, and he was still the most beautiful man Jay had ever seen. Simon lifted a hand, laid it against Jay's cheek, stroked across his jaw and down his neck. "Gotta come down," he murmured. He sounded stoned. "Just wanna touch you. Anchor me." His hands roamed over Jay's skin like he was trying to map Jay's body, like he was just learning how people were put together. He leaned in and kissed Jay almost gently, hands still moving, stroking, ghosting over Jay's shoulders and arms and chest and belly, down to his thighs, around and up his spine. Jay sighed into Simon's open mouth and their kisses grew deeper. "Just wanna touch," Simon repeated. "Lie down with me, yeah? Still high. Bloody hell..." His voice trailed off as he kissed Jay again, more a tasting of his lips than anything else, and pulled him down on the bed. They stretched out together and Jay was getting hard again, but he didn't mind this, the kissing and the touching, so he put his hands on Simon like Simon was putting his hands on him. It was gentle and slow, Simon's way of coming down. Simon didn't seem to be all there, still flying from his orgasm, still caught in what Jay would have thought was a drug high if he hadn't known the truth. It was almost as if Simon's brain had gone on vacation and left his body in charge of itself, and he had to relearn how he worked and how he and Jay fit together.

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Jay still didn't mind. He knew how they fit, and how well, and he had all the time in the world to show it. "I love you," Jay whispered against Simon's mouth. "I love watching you, I love lying here next to you. I love the way you touch me - " Simon's fingers stroked Jay's thigh, made tickling patterns around behind his knee. "I want you. I don't know what I want, but I know, I know, I know I love you and, and you're beautiful, and you're mine." "All yours," Simon murmured. "For that? Be yours forever. Just to see you when you come. Know you're coming for me." Simon pulled Jay closer, rubbed against him. "Thought I'd never come down. Want you, too. Want you now. Imagined you inside me before, fucking me." The hand behind Jay's knee moved up, stroked the top of his thigh where it met his ass, and then moved inwards, traveling toward Jay's balls, pausing to stroke the sensitive patch of skin just behind them. Jay moaned softly. Simon grinned and his teeth closed on Jay's lower lip and tugged. "Oh, God," Jay breathed, or tried to. It was hard to talk with your boyfriend sucking on your lip. "Do that again..." Simon did, finger stroking harder, pushing back toward Jay's hole. "Wanna see you come again. Come on me this time. Wanna come inside you." "Oh, God," was all Jay could say, as Simon pulled his leg over one hip to give that hand better access. "So warm," Simon whispered. "Love touching you. The way you feel, your skin." Simon's other hand held Jay's face steady so they could kiss, and the hand between Jay's legs fondled his balls and massaged his skin and traced teasingly around his ass. Jay was so hard he could scream, and Simon's length against his belly was hard, too. "You're, you're teasing me again..." "Just touching you. Taking my time. Got lots of time, we do." "Please, Simon, please, I want you to, to fuck me, I wanna come." "Okay, baby, okay. Gotta find the lube." Simon reached behind him, hand scrabbling for the little bottle of lube, arching away as he felt around for it. Jay tried to catch his breath, and then Simon had it, was turning back toward him, pushing him onto his back, slicking his fingers and sliding them in. Jay ground down and back, gasped when Simon's fingers bent against that one little spot that made him see stars. "Okay, okay," Jay panted, "stop it, please, please stop it and fuck me, I don't wanna come on your fingers, I want you - "

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"Right. On my way." And then the fingers were gone and Simon spread Jay's legs and draped them over his shoulders and thrust inside, moving slowly, surely, as deep as he'd ever gone, and Jay panted and moaned and wrapped his arms around Simon's neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Watching Simon with the dildo was one thing, but this was something else entirely. This was, at bottom, the only thing Jay ever wanted - Simon inside him, above him, filling him and holding him. Moving in him, talking to him, nibbling on his lip and his jaw and his shoulder and his nipples. Stroking him, sighing and moaning and telling him how beautiful he was. Loving him, as Jay loved him back. "I love you," Jay whispered hoarsely, "I - oh, oh, fuck - Simon - I love you, I - ohh - harder,

right - right, there, right - "

"Shh," Simon murmured. "Shh." Those hips thrust faster, harder, and Jay held on as Simon

reached between them, wrapped slippery fingers around his straining cock and pulled in time.

"Gonna come, gonna – oh, God, oh, oh – oh, fuck, Simon - Simon - oh – oh, God - !" Jay

cried out as he came on both of them, his words lost down Simon's throat.

And Simon only groaned and hissed something that sounded like "so beautiful" and came,

too.

Simon pulled out and they lay in a sticky heap for a long time, just breathing, holding each

other. Jay thought Simon might have fallen asleep, but then "Jay?" Simon whispered

hoarsely.

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

"Welcome. Thought you'd like it."

"Felt good. Not as good as you. But really fucking good." Simon brushed his hair back and

kissed his sweaty forehead. "You oughta try it next."

"Okay. Will you still fuck me afterwards?"

"'Course I will. Silly boy." Simon chuckled. "We're all sticky now. Should go shower."

"I don't care. I'm too tired."

"Same here. Sleep now, shower later."

"Okay."

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Jay didn't care how they were lying - if Simon was there he could sleep in any position - but Simon pushed on his shoulder, told him to turn over, so he did. Simon wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close. "You looked, you looked fantastic," Jay mumbled, "with the dildo inside you. You did. You were, were fucking amazing." Simon didn't answer this time, just chuckled again and kissed Jay's shoulder. "And amazing fucking," he went on. Jesus, but he was tired. "Me and, and it. I'm glad I bought it for you." Maybe Simon answered him this time. But he didn't hear - he was asleep.

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Chapter Twelve Catie, John the Mad Scot's mad Irish girlfriend, used to say that cities had personalities just like the people in them. If that was true, then Bangkok was a grasping, greedy bitch, unable to let Simon go and jealous of the time he spent with anyone else. She called to him across years and miles, seeding his sleep with bits of memory, reminding him why he loved her and why he stayed, and insisting he'll never forget her. He thought he had. So many months since he'd had that dream, that nightmare - although he'd call it a flashback, because it was one of those dreams that returned in more or less the same form, with people he knew or thought he ought to remember, doing things he did and saw other people do. So long he managed to forget that there were things he'd never remember and things he wished he couldn't - so long, he thought he was rid of them for good. But she was a sly city, and she never gave up, and just when you were sure she'd left you alone, she came back. And that was why Simon was suddenly awake in the middle of the night, clammy-damp with sweat, aching and hard and scared. Scared, and he was never scared. It was fleeting, his fear, but it left a taste like sour milk and spoiled tomatoes. It was something clinging, coating him like stale smoke in a hot room, and it smelled like despair, and he took a deep breath and realized he was shaking. Not so fleeting after all. He cursed to himself, a litany of words in a tight, angry voice, and normally he wouldn't wake Jay for this, wouldn't wake Jay just to scare him - because it always scared Jay when Simon was rattled - but he needed something good, a human touch, a voice in his ear that did not belong to the city that tried to kill him. The voice and the touch of someone who loved him. "Jay, baby, wake up," he hissed, pulling on Jay's bare shoulder. "Wake up, I want you, I need you, please, baby, wake up." Simon rubbed against Jay's ass and thighs, reached forward to stroke the boy's cock, to bring him around. Jay shifted and murmured, moved slightly against his hand. "Oh, Christ, need to fuck you, can't do this - Jay, please." And his fingers brushed the tip of Jay's filling cock and Jay started and woke up. "Simon...?" Jay mumbled. "What's, what're you doing..." "Need you," Simon whispered hotly in his ear. "Need you so bad, hard and hot and fucking now. Turn over, let me fuck you."

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"Okay. Okay." Jay obediently rolled onto his back, opened his mouth for a kiss, wrapped arms and legs around Simon, pressed up and rubbed slowly. So willing, always so willing, pliant and generous and kind, Jay loved Simon and needed him and would do anything for him, let anything be done to him, and Simon wanted to go slowly, wanted to let Jay know how much he appreciated this, how profoundly grateful and lucky he was, but he couldn’t. He could still taste her in the back of his throat, damp and warm and sticky-hot, and he could feel her small strong hand on his neck, guiding him, and "Ow," Jay gasped, "oh, oh, God, Jesus, Simon," as Simon took just enough time to coat his cock with spit, almost no time to get Jay ready before he thrust right in. No time and no care, he was desperate and he couldn’t stop, couldn't stop if you made him, his hands clenched in the pillowcase under Jay's head, Jay's legs over his sweaty shoulders, hips pumping hard and fast and deep, trying to lose himself in sex, in Jay, like he’d tried to lose himself in Thailand, like he tried to forget, tried to rip himself to shreds so he could blow away in the breeze. But he was whole now, despite everything, and this was how he proved it - gasping and groaning and shaking the bed, biting down on Jay's lip, his jaw, his shoulder and collarbone, leaving marks that you could see. Jay held on to him, rose to meet him, moaned softly and then louder as Simon pounded into him with the strength of need and a lingering fear, as his cries vanished into Jay's skin and they both came in a bright hot rush. And then Simon collapsed, drained and tired and trying desperately to force that grasping city out of his head. Jay stroked his face, his damp hair, blinked at him curiously. "What was that?" Jay asked. "Needed you," was all Simon could say. "That was, that was, I don't know. Not, not you." "No?" "Not really." Jay kissed him, held him tight. "You're shaking. Why are you shaking?" "Nothing. 'S nothing." "Okay. But - " "Jay. Shh. Just... just hold me, yeah?" Simon's voice trembled. He sounded nervous, tentative, afraid to ask for what he needed. And he was never afraid to ask, he was never afraid to take.

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He was now. In that one moment, when he was raw and open and bleeding from the wounds no one could see, he was afraid to ask. Afraid Jay would want to know why. But Jay only held on to him, breath warm on his skin, murmuring something that might be words, seemingly uncaring about the come drying sticky between them. Jay's arms wrapped around Simon's neck, his legs around Simon's waist, and soon Jay was asleep, flat on his back under Simon the boy whose need for him was a sharp pain behind his ribs. Simon's head dropped, his face nestling into the crook of Jay's shoulder, and he felt calmer, more relaxed. His breathing was even, the trembling in his body more or less gone, and he knew he would be fine later, when he gave Jay a morning blow job and got some juice and some coffee and something to eat, after he showered and shaved and dressed, after he clothed himself in the now and shoved the past back into the dark hidden corners of his mind. "Thank you," he whispered into Jay's hair, rolling them over so he was no longer squashing his boyfriend. "Someday I'll tell you." And soon Simon was sleeping again, dreamless and deep, and Bangkok slunk away, defeated. But she would be back. She always came back. She waited, and she bided her time, and she would return to remind him and to scare him, Simon who was never scared. *** He couldn’t keep it in anymore. Simon needed to get it out, needed it taken from him, and so he went to Not a Nice Place, for the pain and the only person he knew who could make him feel it the way he needed. He glanced around, looking for Dove. He didn't see Damon, but he wasn't looking for him. He finally saw Dove leaning against the wall, and Simon was sure the boy saw him, but when Dove didn't move Simon went over. "Hey there, pretty bird," he said. "Wanna play." Dove had watched Simon walk over, had stared and shifted, setting the bottle he'd been holding down on a table next to him. Now he nodded, eyes bright and starting to glitter in the dim light, pushing off from the wall to move closer. "Simon. It's been ages. Thought I'd scared you off last time," Dove said. He was wearing low-slung leather pants and an open shirt, showing off the tattoo around his waist when he moved. "You really want to play my games?" Dove purred, standing so close that Simon felt the heat from his body.

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"You reckon I'm here for the drink specials?" Simon grinned and shifted closer. He put his palms flat on Dove's chest where the shirt hung open and he could just see a faint tracery of what looked like knife scars. "Looks like some nasty cat got a taste of you, luv," he said. Dove's eyes went flat. "Cat just got a little curious, is all." It took a moment, but Dove settled, feathers smoothing as those hips caught a beat Simon couldn't hear. "What's your game tonight? Whip? Crop? Gonna let me make you hurt, Simon?" Dove slid a hand up the outside of Simon's thigh to his waist and let it rest there. Simon let it stay. He felt almost like Dove was staking a claim, taking possession. He didn't mind. "Crop," Simon said. "Want it to hurt." He leaned in so his mouth was right against Dove's ear, so stray white-blond hairs tickled his nose and cheek, and he whispered, "Give me pain, pretty bird. Show me how strong you really are." Dove molded himself to Simon, cock already getting hard. "You know I will. No one can do it like I can. Take you out of yourself, don't I? Set you free." Dove rubbed against him, the hand at Simon's waist slipping just under the waistband. "Was hoping you'd come in soon," Dove said, meeting his eyes. "Got an offer for you." "Oh?" Simon rubbed back, getting hard himself. He tilted his head, concentrating on Dove's neck and only half listening to the words. Dove's hand slid down, down over his jeans and back up until Dove was cupping his balls. Felt good. Dove started to stroke him, hand pushing hard over the denim and the white hair brushed Simon's face again as Dove whispered in his ear. "Want you to fuck me, Simon." Simon's head snapped back. "You what?" he demanded, almost distracted from Dove's hand kneading his cock through his jeans. But only almost, and then his hips pushed into that hand and he grinned. He didn't think he could turn down an offer like that, but he was damn curious. "Had you pegged for a brutal top, luv. What's with the change of heart?" Dove shrugged one shoulder and for a moment Simon knew he wasn't going to get an answer. Dove shifted and Dove's other hand slid over Simon's belly, between the two of them. "Get feelings, you know? Like what brings you here, what lets me be good enough at what I do. That itch under my skin, the twitch and burn that sets me running." While speaking Dove played with him, the hand on his belly teasing under his waistband, the hand on his cock getting him harder. Squeezing and pulling, starting a slow fire. "Get another feeling sometimes. One that playing here doesn't fix, getting high doesn't chase it away. Think you can help." Fingers found his Prince Albert and tugged gently. "Wanna fuck me, Simon? Want you to fuck me until I can't walk, don't care how many times it takes. Make me beg, make me scream - take me out of myself, yeah?"

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Simon's grin widened. He understood. Sometimes you just needed that. Sometimes the cat-onine wasn't enough, or the crop, or even the needle. Sometimes you needed something simple. You needed to be fucked. He reached around, cupped Dove's leather-clad ass, gave it a squeeze. Those bloody hands were driving him mad and he needed something to hold on to. "Do anything you want, luv," Simon whispered back, dropping his voice to a rasp. "Take you hard, tease you, make you cry like a girl. You want me? You can have me. Tell me what you'll give me for it." And he leaned back and he grinned, white and wolfish, daring Dove to argue. Dove just grinned back, eyes glittering, every bit as feral as Simon'd been at that age and almost as much as he was now. Quick fingers had him unzipped and his cock out into a tight fist before Dove said anything - smart kid to stroke him off while talking price. Hard to argue with a boy who had your cock in his hand. "I'm not cheap," Dove said, not moving his hand. "Don't expect you are either. You pay, what - one-fifty for me? Two hundred? Depends on the toy here. I figure that's an okay number for your time." And the hand around his cock pumped once. "Make me come now, I won't be any good for your audience," Simon gasped, grabbing Dove's hand to hold it still. "Two hundred. And you don't know what my time's worth." He ducked his head and nipped at Dove's lip. "Can make you see God, pretty bird. Wanna feel you tight around me. Wanna hear you screaming for me. But first give me what I came for. Give me pain." Dove purred again, and carefully zipped him up, though he'd be stripping off on the stage soon anyway. "No blood? Just pain? I can do that. Make you soar. Want it all this time? Full deal?" "Didn't say I didn't wanna bleed. Just make it hurt when it does." Simon reached up, stroked Dove's cheek. He felt oddly affectionate toward this sharp, blond boy. "Want it all," he said softly. "Wanna lose myself, want it gone. Everything." Then he snapped back to himself, pulled his hand away, and adjusted himself in his jeans. "Do what you do best. Lay me open, fuck me hard." And then he turned, twisting out of Dove's grip, and went off to put his name on the list. He didn't see Dove again until he was naked and tied, arms out. He could see people dimly, shapes on the other side of the spotlight. Then suddenly Dove was there, in front and to the side of him, shirt gone. Dove had a crop in hand, was playing with it like he'd played with Simon's cock.

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Dove motioned for the whipping master to come over, setting the rules for the scene. "Okay, crop, pain, blood, and I fuck, right, Simon?" "Right." "Safe word?" "Keener." Some things never changed. The master announced it to the room, and Dove stepped back. Simon waited, tension starting to tingle along his spine. The waiting was always part of it; this time he didn't even know if Dove had gotten the rubber and lube out, so he wasn't sure how long he'd have to wait. A warm hand on his back made him jump, and then Dove's voice in his ear. "Gonna hurt you so fucking much." Then Dove was gone and before Simon could settle himself the first blow fell across his back, just below his shoulder blades. He screamed, because he always did, and because it took him by surprise and it hurt. Well, of course it hurt - Dove was good. Really fucking good. Simon knew the audience was out there somewhere, watching, waiting. He grinned at them, and gritted his teeth as the crop fell on his skin. He remembered Dove's hands on him before, remembered Dove's hot fingers stroking him off, and he was hard again. Didn't take much, did it? Just this shadow of his younger self, a pretty blond boy with a strong arm and a good crop and a thick cock and a promise. All it took was pain laying him open, letting everything out. All it took was fire up his back and the things that made him itch burning away. The blows melted together, the pain spreading, weaving into a blanket of ache, a magic carpet to take him into the sky. He was floating, feeling it all, but not feeling it at the same time. He couldn't tell where the crop was going to land next, couldn't say where it had landed last; the only thing that mattered was where it was now. Simon could hear the audience, feel their eyes on him. He could hear Dove behind him, the sound of Dove's boots as the boy moved. But mostly he could hear the blood pounding in his ears, the sound of his own breath starting to rasp. Dove had promised to hurt him, to make it good. Dove always promised that, and he hadn't failed yet. The boy was maybe as good at this as Simon was at fucking. The crop landed again and Simon knew his back was opening. Yeah, this was Dove's calling.

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He could feel it now, his skin breaking open and his blood flowing out. He'd almost fuck Dove for free, just in gratitude for this. No one else up here could take him away from himself like Dove could. No one else had Dove's arm, his timing. And certainly no one else was so fucking gorgeous. Simon threw his head back and barked a laugh. Like that ever mattered with Chet. But Simon had never really talked to Chet and had never seen his face. Chet had never fucked him. Chet didn't do that. Dove did. Soon Simon couldn't feel his legs anymore, or the ache in his arms - he could only feel the crop on his back, could only feel the heat Dove generated behind him. Simon knew everything was leaving, emptying out of him until he was a shell. He couldn't even feel the blood he knew was running down his back to his ass. He could barely hear the audience. His world narrowed to one thing - the sharp, cauterizing pain where Dove laid him open. He stood balanced not so much on the edge of a knife, 'cause fuck knew he was cut all to hell, but on the edge of something. Maybe the edge of a building, ready to jump, ready to find out if he really could fly. Images danced in front of his eyes. He was gone, maybe too far this time, out of touch with himself, the world. Then there was an anchor, something dragging him back and feeling so fucking perfect, pushing the edge back and the high higher. Dove's breath in his ear, a pant and a gasp and oh, fuck, Dove's cock was huge and Simon wanted it all, deep and hard and strong. "Fucking Christ," Simon gasped. He pushed back, trying to pull Dove farther in. He didn't have breath to beg, but that's what he'd be doing if he could actually talk. Dove dragged him back to himself, away from the void, and fucked him like he wanted, like he needed. Fucked him the way Jay couldn't. And wasn't that going to be a problem someday? He was aching now, he needed to come. He couldn't think about anything else. "Touch me," he panted. "Bloody hell..." "Fuck, you're tight. So fucking good, Simon." Then a strong hand around his cock, and Dove was thrusting hard, splitting him open, pushing him into Dove's fist. Again and again, hard and fast, panting in his ear, swearing and telling him how good it was. "Jesus, oh, God, yeah, come for me, Simon, let me feel it." Another thrust and Dove pulled at his cock, thumb pushing at the metal through the tip. "Now, fuck, now!" He screamed something, he had no idea if it was even words, and came hard in Dove's hand. He saw spots for a second and forgot to breathe.

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Dove froze, then went wild, thrusting deep and hard, hips slamming against him, straining his arms. The hand on Simon's cock slid to his hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, and he heard Dove cry out, Dove's cock throbbing as he shot, fingers holding him still. "Fuck. Shit, that was amazing," Dove said, voice husky. Then there were hands holding Simon up as his arms were released, Dove pulling out and letting go. Simon slumped against someone, let whoever it was take his weight until he found his footing. He wasn't terribly surprised when Dove came back, zipping his pants. "I've got him," Dove said, then took Simon's arm. "You okay? Nurse's room, I'll take care of your back." "Cheers," Simon managed to say. He let Dove half-carry him back to the nurse's room, but when they got there, before he could drop on the cot so Dove could clean him up and bandage him, he turned a little, grabbed Dove's chin, and kissed him hard. Just as quickly he pulled back, surprised at himself. Well, fuck, he never kissed the Dom. Dove looked just as surprised, then grinned. "Appreciate that, really. But don't think you're up for fucking right now, and trust me - that mouth? Leads to fucking." Dove sat him down backward on a chair and got the spray out, misting his back before he washed off most of the blood. Simon hissed, then relaxed as Dove sprayed him again, waiting for the gauze. "You do good work," Simon said, meaning the cleaning and gauzing as well as the whipping. He felt settled in his skin like he only did after times like these. Sex and blood - that was really all that worked. His head dropped forward on the chair as Dove taped gauze on his back. He was exhausted now, coming down from the adrenaline high. He'd stay here for a bit, catch his breath, maybe take a nap, and make it home before sunrise. Jay would be asleep. Simon smiled bitterly. He loved Jay, but he needed Dove. Dove shifted him to the cot, and Simon lay down gratefully, ready to sleep. Dove didn't leave though, just turned the chair and straddled it himself. "What?" He looked up at Dove, then away again. "Still want you to fuck me, Simon. No, not now, relax. But soon. And not here." "Damon's place?" "No." Dove didn't even blink, just flat out refused. "Mine, I guess," he added after a moment. "It's... well, it ain't as nice as his, but it's private."

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Simon just lifted his shoulders a tiny bit in as much of a shrug as he could manage. "I'm not fussy, me," he said. "Does the door lock? 'S all that matters." He figured he'd covered his surprise at Dove wanting to go to his own place. "So where do you live? When do you wanna do it?" Dove stood up. "Three blocks west of here, and up one. Used to be an office building, still says 'MDG' on the sign. Can't miss it. Second floor, last door on the left." Simon repeated it to himself and nodded. "When?" Dove crouched in front of him and said, "Soon as you're able," and kissed him, tongue thrusting deep. Then Dove was gone, to the door. "Three days?" Dove asked. Simon closed his eyes and smiled. "Three days, pretty bird." He didn't see Dove leave. *** And three days later Simon went where Dove had told him, an old office building four blocks from the club, up two flights of stairs and all the way to the end of the hall. He’d lived in squats like this when he was younger, squats like this and worse. He knocked on Dove’s door, heard Dove calling "Who is it?" from inside. "Avon calling," he answered, grinning. "Gonna make me stand out here all night?" He heard a dead bolt and chain unlocking and the door swung open. Dove was shirtless. Nice. "Hey." Dove almost looked nervous, unsure. "C'mon in," he said, stepping back. "Nice place, for a squat," Simon commented, walking in so Dove could lock the door behind him. He’d worn black jeans and a black T-shirt tight enough to outline his nipple ring, and he swung the plastic bag he’d gotten from a drugstore as he glanced around. "Brought you a present." He held out the bag so Dove could see a couple packs of condoms and a new bottle of lube inside. "Reckon you got enough," Simon went on conversationally, "but it never hurt to be prepared, yeah? Not like you can have too much lube." He grinned, then was all business. "Right. Two hundred, paid first, and I'm home before sunrise. Anything else is your call." Dove nodded and grabbed his coat, handing Simon the stack of tens and twenties. Boy still seemed a little twitchy, like he was trying not to crawl out of his skin. "You don't have rules about kissing or shit?" Dove asked, sounding curious.

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Simon shrugged. "Don't think about it much. I don't do golden showers or scat. You can bite me - well, hell, you know how I like the pain - tell me if I can bite you, 'cause if I can, I will." He grinned again, stepping close enough for Dove to feel the heat off his skin. "Kissed you once already, luv. Don't have to do it again, you don't want me to. Is it gonna calm you down?" "God, no." Dove rested a hand on Simon's hip, the same way he'd done it at the club. "Gonna take a lot to calm me. You up to it?" "Oh, I'm up to it." Simon's hand dropped and kneaded Dove's cock through the boy's pants. "Looks like you're up, too." And then Simon was practically plastered up against Dove, a knee between his thighs, rubbing hard against him, one hand on Dove's ass and the other on his neck, holding him close as Simon kissed him hard enough to bruise his mouth. Simon felt Dove’s control shatter, felt everything fall away except need and energy, the need to get off and get off fast. The boy moved against Simon, kissing him back and pushing him toward the bed. Dove started to tug at Simon's T-shirt, but gave up and went straight for his zipper, forcing a hand between them. "Fuck. Jesus, Simon, just - " But Dove didn’t have to explain. Simon knew what he wanted. Simon pushed Dove hard so he landed on his back on the bed, then straddled him and yanked his zipper down. "Lift your hips, luv," Simon murmured. Dove did and Simon pulled his pants down far enough to free that thick cock, then bent his head and swallowed Dove down to the root. He sucked strongly, throat muscles working, tongue rasping up and down the shaft, while his fingers rolled Dove's balls and he murmured against Dove's heat. Not here five minutes and he was going to make Dove come. Damn, he was good. "Oh, fuck! Christ, Simon." Dove's back arched and he thrust his hips, unable to stop. But Simon could take it, hands on Dove’s ass encouraging him and Dove just let go, swearing at the ceiling, hands tight on Simon's shoulders as his balls tightened. "Gonna – oh, fuck, gonna come. Don't fucking stop, gonna - " Dove's orgasm ripped through him and he screamed as he shot, his fingers digging into Simon hard enough to bruise. Simon swallowed it all and kept sucking, but more and more gently until Dove was soft and empty. He looked up and slowly licked traces of come off his lips. "Calm you down some?" Simon asked, grinning.

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"A bit," Dove allowed. Dove looked at Simon who was still dressed and still grinning. Simon figured he'd let Dove give the orders this time. After all, it was Dove’s money. "Get undressed," Dove ordered. Simon stood up, then turned around and bent over, affording Dove a nice view of his tight ass, which he wiggled while he untied his boots and kicked them off. He straightened, turned back, and slowly peeled off first his shirt and then his jeans. He wasn't wearing shorts. "Hands and knees," Simon purred. It sounded like a caress and a threat at the same time. Dove kicked off his jeans and rolled over, moving up on the bed so neither of them would fall off. He wiggled his ass right back at Simon, which Simon certainly did not mind - hell, Dove’s ass was just as nice as his, and if he was going to fuck it he might as well get a good look. The room was warm, despite the open window, but a shiver still worked its way up Dove’s spine and the muscles in his back started to jump. "Relax, luv," Simon said, gently laying a hand on Dove's spine. He bent over and licked at Dove’s skin, lapping up the spine to Dove's neck and then back down. Dove's skin rippled in its wake. "Gonna fuck the tension out, yeah? Make you scream again, so loud the neighbors bang on the wall." He came to the cleft of Dove’s ass and paused. "Gonna fuck you hard, pretty bird," Simon murmured. "Keep fucking you until you pass right out." The plastic drugstore bag crinkled as Simon got out the lube and popped the top. The bottle squelched as he squirted some on his hand, and then he laid his other hand on Dove’s hip and pushed first one and then two fingers in Dove's ass. He worked the fingers for half a minute, stretching and slicking and probing, and then he stilled them. Dove waited for about six seconds. "What the fuck are you doing? Or not doing?" he snapped. His cock was starting to fill between his thighs, his breath getting a little short. It didn’t take a genius to know Dove wanted more and he wanted it now. "Teasing you, luv." Simon’s voice was almost affectionate. "Taking a good long look at your lovely tight arse. No?" But his fingers resumed their motion, sliding in and out, three now. "So tight," Simon murmured. "Gonna feel so fucking good around my prick." And then he pulled his fingers out and ripped open one of the condoms, slid it over his cock, grabbed Dove’s hips. The tip of his cock rested just briefly at Dove’s hole, and then Simon grunted and pushed and he was inside. "Oh, Christ, Dove," he sighed, "fucking hell, you feel good."

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His fingers dug hard into Dove's hips as he started thrusting, hard and deep and the ring in his cock skated across Dove's gland again and again. "Oh, God." Dove's head drop between his shoulders, just riding it. The boy braced his weight on his hands a little better and started pushing back, riding Simon for all he was worth. His long hair hung down, a white-blond curtain that rippled as Simon fucked him fast and deep. "Harder," Dove managed. "Jesus, need more." "Bloody hell," Simon panted, fingers leaving bruises as his hips pushed harder and his cock drove deeper and he filled every empty space inside of Dove. "So tight, so - fuck, Dove - so good..." And then his words dissolved into moans and harsh pants. It was almost enough that Dove’s ass was hot and tight, but more than that, he was fucking his Dom, fucking the boy he paid to whip him, fucking the boy who until now had only ever fucked him. Turnabout. Not only fair play, but fairly fucking hot as well. Skin slapped against skin as Simon pounded into Dove like he'd promised, hard and deep and strong, unstoppable and untiring. He bent down, his chest against Dove’s back, skin hot and slippery with sweat, and he ducked his head and sank his teeth into the back of Dove's shoulder, breaking the skin as he lost his rhythm, snapping his hips and coming explosively in Dove's ass. Dove screamed, threw back his head, hair flying, shooting over his blankets, his muscles rolling. He fell forward, taking Simon with him. "Oh, fucking hell," Dove said. "Christ." Simon’s chest heaved as he tried to breathe, panted against Dove’s shoulder and in his hair. He lay on top of Dove until he was soft enough to pull out, and then he rolled off and onto his back on the mattress. "Christ in a toga," Simon panted. "Gotta take this off but I can't fucking move." Dove turned and watched as Simon carefully peeled the condom off and tied the end. Simon staggered to his feet, stumbled into the bathroom, and pitched it in the toilet. He stumbled back and collapsed on the bed again. "Christ," Simon repeated, his voice a little hoarse. Dove was some fuck. He was wiped. He rolled onto his side, gently ran his fingers over the bite in Dove's shoulder. "Broke the skin, I did," he said wonderingly. "Been a while since I did that. Pulled it right out of me." Dove took a deep breath. "Yeah. Even when I bottom I'm fucking unbelievable," Dove said with a grin, trying halfheartedly to dodge Simon's smack. "Was good. Really fucking good. Now shut up and grab a blanket, yeah? Need to rest before we try that again."

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"Fuck, yeah. Rest's good. Could sleep on the fucking floor even." Simon made no attempt to move, just wiggled around and pulled on the blankets until he'd gotten both of them more or less covered. He couldn’t move, but more to the point, he didn’t really want to. He put his hands behind his head, then turned and grinned at Dove. "Don't look quite settled, you. Give us a couple minutes, we'll do it again." He winked. "Jesus, take more than a couple of minutes," Dove moaned. "Please, take more than a couple of minutes." Dove looked at Simon for a moment, seemingly sleepy but not completely relaxed. Simon wondered what he was thinking. Dove leaned over and kissed him. "You live up to your hype," Dove said with a grin. "And I'm completely seeing the point of the ring in your prick." Simon grinned. "Only reason I got it, luv." He yawned. It always came back to sex, and the myriad ways you could make someone scream. "Don't mind me sharing the bed, do you? Sometimes people get a bit twitchy, gotta sleep alone. Pay a stranger to fuck them, but can't sleep next to a trick." He’d never had that problem, although he usually tried to avoid it. He liked to be gone before his tricks wanted to sleep next to him. But Dove was different. He didn’t mind this. "I can move, you want me to. Half a chance I'll roll over in my sleep and land on top of you." "No, stay," Dove said. Simon was oddly relieved. "Feel free to roll on me, too," Dove added with a leer. Simon was asleep in less than a minute, tired out from the fucking and feeling strangely comfortable sleeping next to Dove. Jay would have hysterics. But Jay didn’t need to know. Besides, money changed hands, this was a job. He woke up first, and brought Dove out of sleep by tracing patterns on that belly and those thighs with his tongue, and then moving up to suck on a nipple. Dove was fully awake and tense within moments. Simon knew full well what Dove’s instincts were screaming, and he kept on sucking to give Dove some time to sort it out. He reckoned Dove would realize what a good spot he was in. "Hey," Dove said. Simon could feel him waking up, getting hard. Simon knew he was a lovely thing to wake up to. "Mmm," he said into Dove’s skin. "Taste good, pretty bird. Salty and warm." He shifted a little so Dove could feel his hard-on. Simon paid very close attention to Dove’s nipple, sucking and gently biting until it was a tender, throbbing nub, and then he transferred that mouth to the other one. While his lips and tongue played with Dove's nipples his hands stroked up and down Dove's sides, down to Dove's waist, hips, and thighs.

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Simon stopped, lifted his head, and said "Reckoned a slow wake up like this wouldn't get me killed. Can go faster. Use my teeth, make you hard like that" - he snapped his fingers - "bite you again, maybe. Put your legs over my shoulders, pound you into the mattress. Or you like it slow?" "Fast and hard, Simon. Make me see God. Need to sing." Simon knew that was what Dove had paid for, not going slow and enjoying the moment. Dove wanted to lose control and let someone else take charge, let someone else dominate him. Simon wondered if he could even get Dove to beg. Because this was what Simon did, this was what people paid him for, to take care of them so they didn’t have to ask, they could just get - get bitten, get told what to do, get fucked. Simon was a Dom by nature, and an old hand at reading people’s desires. Dove didn’t have to say anything. Simon knew what he needed, knew he could give it. "Face-to-face this time,” Dove said. “Want to see you move in me." And Simon just grinned, because he'd been thinking the same thing. "I can do that." He reached down, grabbed Dove's cock, and pumped it. "So hard already, luv. You feel good, I say that before? So fucking good around me. Tight and hot. Love how you screamed." While he talked his hand moved faster, his fist tightening, making Dove gasp. And then he stopped, slid down between Dove's legs, parted those thighs, and tilted Dove's hips up. "Wanna taste you quick," he murmured, lapping at Dove's hole, making Dove groan. His tongue traced around the entrance and then slid right in, probing deep like his fingers had before. "Oh, shit," was all Dove said. Simon was fast and efficient, for all that he could take his time, because this little thing was for him, but the whole experience was for Dove, and he could only take so much time to appease his own desire. As Dove watched he managed to get a condom on without stopping the motion of his tongue, then he slid back up, draped Dove's legs over his shoulders, and once again thrust right in. "Wanna watch me while I fuck you?" he asked, his voice gentle like they were lovers. "Wanna watch you, too." He wanted to see it on Dove’s face, the effect he had. He wanted to see Dove’s arousal, his climax. He wanted to see how badly Dove wanted him. "Yeah? God, you look good. Strong and sexy as fuck - " Dove broke off in a long moan as Simon hit his prostate. "Jesus, Simon." Dove closed his eyes for a minute. Simon watched. "Feel good," Dove whispered. "Feel you everywhere, filling me. Can smell you, taste you – oh, God, there, again."

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"Your wish..." Simon panted, driving deeper. "Oh, Christ - Dove - fucking beautiful..." His voice was thick, and he stared down at Dove through his damp fringe of bleached-blond hair, his eyes glazing as his hips pumped like pistons and his cock pegged Dove's gland every single time. "Open your eyes, luv," Simon whispered. "Wanna see you." He leaned on one arm so he could reach between them and stroke Dove's cock in time with his thrusts. "Taste you." He leaned forward now, moaning softly, and his teeth closed on Dove's lower lip. He moaned louder as his cock pushed deeper, farther in, the muscles of his shoulders shifting and straining under Dove's legs. "Could fuck you forever," he panted. "Don't wanna stop." "Don't - don't then. Oh, fuck, so good - " Dove thrust up, pushing that thick cock into Simon's hand, then driving back down onto him. They hit a fast rhythm, working together to get higher, faster. Dove pulled Simon down, kissing him hard, fucking Simon's mouth with his tongue, soaring. "Jesus, Simon. So gorgeous, you're fucking amazing. God - don't stop - fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck." Simon could feel it already, his spine tingling, Dove’s ass hot and tight around his cock. Pressure built his skin slick with sweat, and all he wanted was the taste of Dove, the feel of him, the sight of his face and the sounds he made as Simon fucked him. "Please - God, please, Simon." "Fuck – oh, Christ, oh - can't stop," Simon rasped, as his hand jerked on Dove's cock and his hips pounded into Dove's ass. "So good, so fucking - good - " He kissed back, trying to take Dove's mouth, moaning deep in his throat, and his hand clenched and his hips thrust and he was coming hard, nailing Dove to the mattress and stealing his breath. "Come for me, Dove." Dove came, screaming his name. "Simon!" Dove jerked hard, spraying his belly and chest, Simon's hand. "Oh, sweet Christ - " Dove sobbed, not letting go, holding Simon close, as he shook. He captured Simon's mouth for another kiss, drawing it out as long as he could, his legs trembling against Simon’s shoulders. Simon pulled out, stumbled into the bathroom to ditch the condom, then came back to collapse on the bed. He wasn’t surprised, or upset, when Dove curled into his side and whispered, "Thank you." "Any time," Simon whispered back. He wrapped an arm around Dove's shoulders and brushed damp hair away from Dove's face. "Fucking hell, Dove, you're good. So beautiful - " No. That was for Jay. The beauty on someone’s face when you made them come, that was his. This is business, Simon reminded himself sharply. Dove is not for you, not like that.

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He stopped himself mid-sentence, then went on. "Felt so good. Love how you move around me, how you scream. How you taste." He hoped Dove hadn’t caught the stumble. He leaned over and kissed Dove, licking at his lips before pulling back. "I keep my part of the deal? Can you walk?" He was teasing. "Don't mind if I stay a bit, rest up? Got some time before sunrise. Unless you want more." His fingers traced lazy circles on Dove's arm. Dove groaned softly, shifting a little closer, sliding a hand over Simon's damp skin. "Can't walk. Sleepy. You stay, long as you want to. Always want more." Dove shifted again. Simon let him, even though if Dove got any closer he'd be on top. Dove slid an arm around Simon's waist and closed his eyes. Simon put his arms around Dove, held him close. He pressed his lips to Dove’s forehead, just for an instant, then snuggled next to him so his gentle breathing brushed Dove’s ear. "Thanks, luv," Simon said softly. He could not have explained what he was thanking Dove for, other than two hundred dollars well-earned. He could have said he was just thanking Dove for the chance to fuck, the chance to ride Dove hard and make him sweat. He could have said he was thanking Dove for being such a good and responsive john, for not kicking him out as soon as they were finished. He could have said he was thanking Dove for simply being a fabulous fuck. But he wouldn’t explain. He didn’t want to. They made a deal. He liked to think that was all it was. He was gone before Dove woke up. He went on with his life. It was always easier after you’d let something out of your system that was making you insane.

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Chapter Thirteen At the end of the school year the art school where Simon did the life modeling held a show for the students' best work. A lot of the graduates had individual shows to display a whole degree's worth of art, but the end-of-year show was for everyone, just for the semester. Simon was the subject of some of the drawings, so of course he wanted to go, and he made Jay come with him. Jay said he felt out of place and awkward, but Simon loved it, standing nonchalantly between a beautiful chalk drawing of himself in a chair and a charcoal drawing of him leaning against a pillar. He smiled and laughed and pretended modesty when people complimented the artists in his hearing. Simon chatted. He subtly hinted he'd model for anyone - for drawings, studies, paintings, photographs, sculpture. There was another model there, a pretty, slightly overweight girl with long brown hair in many skinny braids who took pity on Jay and brought him a plate of fruit and little cookies and tried to talk to him. Jay was way out of his depth. The other model - Rachael - had come alone, and although the students had invited friends and family and significant others who weren't part of the school, Jay felt like the only person who didn't have a reason to be there. He stood off to the side and nibbled on the snacks that Rachael had brought him, and he admired the art. The drawings of Simon almost didn't look like himself. Jay knew Simon was the same as always, lean and beautiful and direct, with the flat belly and pierced cock and slightly smirky grin that Jay knew so well, but he was totally out of context. There was no background in most of the pictures except for maybe a drape, and Simon was alone in all of them and he could have been anyone, anywhere. It put Jay a little off-balance. Simon looked displaced. And then Simon noticed him and trotted over, grinning happily. "You see me?" Simon asked. "Make a good model, I do." "They're really nice," Jay admitted. "Artist's over there." Simon pointed to a girl with a blue streak in her dark brown hair. She was wearing a black shirt and talking excitedly to a couple of people. "Very dedicated, that one. Cute, too. She does good work, yeah?" "Yeah. Do you get, like, credit?" "For what? Standing still so people can draw me? Get paid, that's enough. Gonna do it for summer session and if anyone wants me outside that." Simon looked at the plate in Jay's hands and took a strawberry, peering at it critically. "Shouldn't complain about the free food, but we can do better than this." He held out the strawberry for Jay, who blinked at it. "I like strawberries," Jay said.

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"So take it." The berry wiggled enticingly. Jay leaned forward and ate it out of Simon's

fingers. "Good boy." Simon picked up another and Jay ate that, too.

"What happens to the pictures?"

"Dunno." Simon popped a grape in his mouth and held out a cherry. "Cherry?"

"Not for a year and a half." Jay blinked at himself and blushed. Simon laughed and ate the

cherry, then spit the pit into his palm, making even that small motion suggestive. Jay blushed

harder. Simon kissed him.

"Taste like strawberry, you do. Need to fix that."

Jay was acutely aware that people could be watching them, because people were always

watching Simon, but he ate a few more cherries from Simon's fingers, spitting the pits into

his open hand, followed by a couple of grapes and a little shortbread cookie with raspberry

jam in the center.

"There," Simon said, "should taste like sugar now." He pulled Jay's head close and licked

crumbs off his lips. "You like the art, yeah?"

"She could sell them."

"Might do, when she's all rich and famous. Imagine me hanging starkers in some posh

gallery."

"I'd buy it."

"Ah, you get it for free."

"Well, yeah... Can we go?" The strawberries had given Jay a fairly uncharacteristic idea.

"Wanted to stay a bit longer. Take advantage of the free food and drink, chat a bit more. Get

someone else to hire me." Simon shrugged. "Why? What d'you reckon? You wanna go do

something else?"

"Maybe a little art appreciation." Jay took Simon's hand and led him out of the room,

dropping the plate of cherry pits on a convenient table on the way.

Jay had no idea where he was going but he figured if he walked down the hall far enough

he'd find the room he needed. Besides, it took them farther from the art show, which was the

point.

Well, one of the points.

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The building wasn't exactly empty and Jay was starting to think he'd have to do this later when Simon asked "Where we going, luv?" just as a men's room appeared. Jay dragged Simon through the door and into one of the stalls, pushed him against the wall and practically attacked him. "Bit of a surprise, this," Simon said, when Jay finally had to come up for air. Simon grinned. "Art appreciation, huh?" "I guess. You looked like, I dunno, misplaced in those pictures. Even the really good ones. You could be anywhere, you know? Instead you weren't anywhere." "So you have to put me in my place?" Those pale blue eyes sparkled wickedly and Jay blushed. "Not like that. I don't know. Everyone was watching you, and, and you looked so comfortable there, like that's, that's your place - in a gallery, standing in front of all those pictures of you. I just, I want you back. I want - I want you." Simon looked surprised, but kind of pleased. Jay pressed into Simon, so Simon's back sat flat against the stall wall, and now his previous discomfort, his own displacement, coalesced into one thing - Simon was his, not that cute art student's, not anyone's back at the show. Maybe you could draw him for an hour or three, take pictures, whatever, but at the end of the session Simon wasn't theirs, he belonged to Jay. And Jay was going to make Simon see that. He tugged Simon's shirt out of his pants, ran his hands up under it, palms spreading over the flat muscles and smooth skin lately so beautifully drawn. Jay kept kissing, trying to lead, trying to guide, and then he pulled Simon's shirt up and bent down, licking a path down his boyfriend's chest, stopping at the waistband of Simon's black pants. "Well, now," Simon said. Jay looked up from where he knelt on the tile floor, and now it was his turn to grin. He held Simon's gaze as he unbuttoned the pants, unzipped them and yanked them down. "Shh," he said, running his hand over the front of Simon's boxer briefs. He squeezed. Simon blinked. He squeezed again. Simon opened his mouth to say something but Jay just repeated himself - "Shh" - and Simon closed it again. Jay was acutely aware that anyone could walk in at any minute, and while he didn't think they'd get arrested, he was pretty sure they'd at least get kicked out of the building, and maybe Simon wouldn't be able to model for classes here anymore. But from the expression on Simon's face he didn't think Simon cared. He pulled down the boxer briefs, measured out the length of Simon's cock in his hand. Warm flesh and silk skin, and this was his, too. His fingers closed around it and he stroked once,

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twice, three times, felt more than heard Simon's sighs, then glanced up again, grinned what he hoped was a devilish grin, and sucked Simon's cock into his mouth. Jay would never get tired of this, heat and salt and sweat and the first bitter drops on his tongue. He teased the steel ring, licked up and down the shaft, pulled strongly before letting go with an audible pop. He paid due attention to Simon's balls, sucking one and then the other, while one hand held his boyfriend's thigh and the other stroked his ass. Above him Simon panted and moaned softly, and when Jay looked up, Simon was smiling. This was the Simon none of those art students would ever get to see - this was Jay's Simon, a blond boy caught in pleasure, his cheeks starting to flush and his eyes hot and heavy-lidded, his pierced nipple peaking as he tugged at the little ring through it, his other hand moving restlessly in curling sandy hair. Simon was beautiful. He had context now, he had place and purpose. "Jay..." Simon rasped, as Jay went back to his cock, tongue playing in the slit, pulling on Simon's Prince Albert. "Fucking Christ..." "Shh," Jay reminded him. Simon's head fell back against the stall wall but then he looked down again - Jay could see him - and he was grinning an open-mouthed grin, and he was breathing heavily and Jay could feel Simon's thighs trembling, could feel Simon's climax building at the base of his spine. Jay was sucking tightly now, hollowing his cheeks, no longer playing but very serious. He cupped Simon's balls, weighed them in his hand, and then his wrist twisted and his fingers pushed back to that sensitive patch of skin behind them. He stroked and sucked, head tilted back and gray eyes looking up, and he pushed right there and Simon shuddered, hips snapping and he was coming down Jay's throat, hand fisted in Jay's hair, groans soft above Jay's head. Jay stayed there on his knees, one hand around Simon's thigh and the other gently fondling his balls, while Simon caught his breath and stroked Jay's hair. "Bloody hell," Simon murmured. Jay pulled off Simon's cock, now limp and clean, licked his lips slowly, and stood up. Simon wiped an invisible drop from the corner of Jay's mouth. "Now that's appreciation." "Yeah, well..." Jay leaned in and kissed his boyfriend, deep and intent, and when he leaned back he was grinning, and he said, "Bet I don't taste like strawberries anymore." "No, luv, you taste like me. Taste better." Simon put himself back into his pants, tucked in his shirt, and pushed Jay's hair out of his face with both hands. "Didn't quite expect that," Simon said. "Taking possession of the art, yeah?"

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"Taking possession of the model. That's not you in the pictures. That's not, that's just a naked guy. This is you. This is, this is the Simon I know." "Don't think I translate to paper, do you?"

Jay shrugged. "Maybe. Some of them are really good. But they're not you." He couldn't

explain it any better than that. Simon didn't seem to mind.

"Ah, it's just business. No one gets the real you. Not even for money."

"Just me," Jay said quietly.

"Just you."

The door to the men's room banged open, breaking the moment apart, but Simon and Jay just

grinned at each other and walked out of the stall, Simon laughing at the startled expression of the boy who'd just come in. Jay blushed as the boy stared, but Simon took his hand and led him back to the art show. Simon had apparently been missed, although not for long, and this time when he mingled he took Jay along. Jay didn't care if the students and professors and friends and family knew about him and Simon or not, didn't care if they realized where Simon really belonged. Because Simon knew, and that was what mattered. That was the point. *** "What are we watching?" Jay whispered as they sat on the couch watching TV. "Dunno," Simon said. "Boy's cute, though." Simon's hand was resting on Jay's thigh and now it started to knead slowly.

"You think so?"

"Uh-huh. Not as cute as you, but not bad." Simon grinned. Jay blushed.

"He's got shoulders. And - oh." Simon's hand had moved up until his fingers started to

massage the joint where Jay's thigh met his hip, right by his balls. "Simon..."

"Mm?" Simon was still watching the TV, apparently unaware of what his hand was doing.

"You reckon he'd do us?" Now Simon turned his head and he was smiling one of his wicked

“I'm up to something” smiles. Jay leaned in and kissed him.

"I'd do you," Jay murmured, then blushed at his own forwardness. Although this was Simon,

and you could never be too forward with him.

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"Bet you would." Simon held Jay's chin with his free hand and kissed back, tongue pushing deep, tasting. He pulled away with Jay's bottom lip between his teeth, the hand on Jay's thigh still kneading, still pressing, and Jay reached out to touch him, too. "You taste good, luv. Like butter and popcorn." Jay twisted around a little so he could swing a leg over Simon's thighs and give his hand better access. He was almost in Simon's lap now and he moaned softly into Simon's mouth and his hips pushed against Simon's hand as strong fingers started fondling his cock in earnest through his khakis. "Feel hot, Jay baby," Simon said. "Feel good." Now it was Simon's turn to twist, this time pushing Jay sideways and down to his back on the couch with Simon on top of him, rubbing against him and kissing him so he couldn't breathe. Oh, yeah. Jay's favorite thing - or one of his favorite things - Simon's kisses. Just being able to lie here with nowhere to go and no one to see and nothing to do besides make out on the couch. Jay's hands ran down Simon's back to his ass, to squeeze that tight butt through his jeans. He hooked a leg around the back of Simon's knee as they rocked together, kissing and rubbing and creating heat and Jay was hard now, so hard it hurt, cock pressing painfully against the zipper of his pants. Simon held Jay's head with one hand and pushed the other up under his shirt, tugging until Jay took the hint and managed to get it off. Simon bent and sucked on a nipple, tonguing and nipping until it was red and swollen and Jay moaned and his hips pushed up and Simon rocked against him and it wasn't enough, Jay needed to touch Simon, too, needed to feel his skin, his cock. "Simon," Jay panted into his boyfriend's hair, "gotta, gotta touch you..." Simon took the hint, wriggling around so Jay could get a hand between them and fumble his jeans open, push them off his ass, grab on with both hands and go with it. Simon had Jay's thigh trapped between his legs, Jay's sharp hipbone giving him something to grind against and spreading his legs just enough to give Jay room as his fingers traveled along Simon's crease and down to his balls, stroking right there, hard enough to make Simon gasp and stutter on his chest. "Oh, fuck," Simon hissed, and his ass ground down harder, moving in circles almost, and now Jay struggled with his khakis, fighting the zipper and managing to free his erection. Simon was hard and hot and long against his belly, rubbing heat on his skin, against his cock, and Jay could feel the couch shake as they moved together. Jay could feel his back arch, could feel something building in his skull, in his balls, in his toes, everywhere. He wanted Simon to fuck him and at the same time he didn't care - he had heat and friction and Simon was playing with his other nipple now, sighing into his skin, making him moan, making him whimper.

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They rubbed hard and close, cocks stiff and leaking, Simon's mouth coming off Jay's skin to take his lips and tongue again, to kiss him deeply and thoroughly until they were both breathless. "Love you," Jay panted, "love how, how you kiss me - " His words dissolved as Simon's hips pushed down, pushed forward and back and oh, holy shit, Jay was going to come, he didn't want to, he wanted to keep going, he didn't want to stop... His hands tightened on Simon's ass, fingers teasing Simon's hole, holding on as Simon rolled against him, kissed him harder, nipped at his tongue and his lips and then his jaw, his ear, his neck, finding a spot and sucking up a mark so Jay moaned louder, ground down hard and fast, felt slick heat on his belly and hot skin against his cock and he couldn't hold it anymore, Simon's teeth pulled on the skin of his neck and it was painful and arousing and Jay knew people would look at it and know Simon had marked him as his, and then somehow Simon had a hand between them tweaking his nipple and that was it, that was all it took and Jay was humping Simon, crying out and coming, hot and sticky on both their skin. "Christ, baby," Simon panted, hips jerking as he came as well. "Fuck," Jay said slowly, as they came down, moving more slowly against each other, now simply rubbing come into each other's skin. "Fuck." He threw his arms around Simon's neck and kissed him some more, happy languorous kisses. "God, you feel so good. I could, I could do that all day, just lie here and kiss you and, and feel you against my stomach. Just rub against you until we, until we came." "Thinking a shower'd be good about now," Simon murmured into his mouth. Fingers played with the mark on Jay's neck, which unexpectedly made his cock twitch and his balls tingle, spent and empty as they were. "Stop that," Jay said helplessly. "Stop what?" Simon leaned back and grinned. His face was flushed, his eyes bright. He looked wicked and well-fucked and Jay wanted to kiss him again, so he did. He had a sudden mental picture of what they must look like, Simon on top of him, jeans shoved off his ass, cock stretched and limp against his belly, Jay's leg rubbing unconsciously against the backs of his knees, thigh to thigh, just about, and he'd lost his shirt but Simon was still wearing his although Jay figured it had to be hiked up almost to his shoulders and all that skin, warm, sweaty boy skin, and he wanted to do it again, wanted Simon to touch him and kiss him and suck on him and make him shake and make him scream and make him come until he was empty and lightheaded and exhausted. He loved his boyfriend, he surely did. "Bet we looked hot, doing that," Simon commented. "Sounded pretty good, too. Could make our own porn." Simon grinned. Jay blinked, too happy to be properly appalled.

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"If, if you brought a video camera home, I might, um, I might, I could, we could fuck in front of it. I'd, I'd watch you over and over. I'd even watch me, if, if you were on top." Simon laughed and kissed him soundly. "Might do. Wonder if... Huh." Simon had that look again. His hips rubbed in slow circles, warming Jay's belly and cock and balls. "Give me ideas." Simon bent his head for another kiss. Jay thought if they kept doing that, kissing and rubbing, he'd get hard again. "Still think showering'd be nice. Come on, I'll wash your... back." He sat up, kneeling between Jay's legs, and grinned down at him. He climbed off the couch, shucked off his clothes, and held out a hand. Jay couldn't help but notice that Simon seemed to be half-hard already. "You're gonna bring a camera home, aren't you? And, and set it up in the bedroom and not tell me." "It was your idea. C'mere and kiss me, and we'll go clean off. Think maybe we oughta do it properly this time, with lube and all. A little sucking, a little fucking..." The grin widened. Jay blushed. "Oh, come now, you know you were thinking the same thing." "I was," Jay admitted, sitting up so he could take off his pants. "Okay, okay. Shower. And, and, yeah. That." Simon laughed at him again, looking amused and affectionate, and took Jay's hand and pulled him off the couch and into his arms. "You kill me," Simon said, grinning, arms tight around Jay's waist. "Cutest boy I ever knew." And Simon kissed him and pinched his ass and let go and ran into the bathroom, and Jay followed. He didn't even bother to turn off the TV. *** Simon was as good as his word, and one day he did bring a video camera home, and, as promised, Jay let Simon film them fucking. He should have known Simon would make him watch. After all, he’d promised that, too. "Brought you a present," Simon said a few days later, waving what looked like a CD jewel case at Jay. Jay looked up from his book. "Is that a CD? Or did you get a movie?" "It's a surprise." Simon knelt in front of the TV, switched it on, and popped the jewel case open. He waved the disk at Jay and then stuck it in the DVD player, turned the sound down on the TV, and squinted at the screen. "See if this works..." Jay folded down the corner of the page he was reading and put his book on the coffee table. What was Simon -

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"Oh," Jay said, as a picture came up - Simon standing in front of the camera, the bedroom behind him, fiddling with something. The face on the TV grinned into the camera, said "Testing, testing... fuck me harder, Simon," laughed, and moved back to the bed. "Remember I brought that camera home?" Simon asked now, turning on his heels to grin at Jay. Jay knew he looked horrified, because Simon's grin widened. "Copied it onto CD. Called a VCD - plays on a DVD player. Lasts longer than a videotape." Jay blinked. "Thought you might wanna watch it with me." Jay blinked again. Simon turned back to the DVD player and fiddled with it, turned the sound back on, and got up to settle on the couch next to Jay. "Said you'd watch yourself." "I said I'd watch you." Jay stared at the TV, utterly mesmerized as the Simon onscreen tested the camera some more by dancing naked in front of it. "Well, you are watching me." Simon snuggled right up against him, dropped a hand on Jay's thigh. "It's gonna be good," Simon whispered in Jay's ear, his hand starting to knead the inside of Jay's leg. "We look fucking hot. Just watch, yeah?" Jay tried, he really did. The camera switched off and when it came back on, it showed him on the bed as well as Simon, both of them naked, kissing each other now, touching and murmuring and moaning softly and moving against each other. Simon boosted the sound with the remote, which he was holding in his free hand. When the TV was loud enough he tossed the remote back behind them, presumably so Jay couldn't grab it and turn off their little home movie. Jay swallowed a moan on the couch as Simon fondled him through his shorts - he didn't want Simon to think their homemade porn was turning him on, because then he'd have to keep watching himself. On the screen Simon had managed to position them so the camera caught them equally, faces and hands and hips, and they were both flushed and hard and Jay couldn't watch. He couldn't watch himself playing with his boyfriend. He couldn't watch the naked need on his videotaped face. "Look," Simon whispered hotly. "Look at yourself, luv." Jay shook his head. "Look at me, then. So hot for you, see? So hard." But Jay only turned his head and pressed his face into Simon's neck. He knew Simon would never understand how much it embarrassed him to look at himself like that. He looked like a baby giraffe, awkward and ungainly and too skinny. He couldn't understand how someone could get off watching him. Simon grabbed Jay's chin with his free hand and forced his head back. "Just for a minute, Jay," he said. "A minute. Listen to yourself. Hear that? Hear the moans? How ready you are?" Jay shook his head again. "I can't," he said, "I can't, I - " Oh, but for a second he did, suddenly caught by those soft porn sounds, the heavy breathing, the, "Oh, God," and, "So good," and, "Now, Simon, now," and he had to look, and there he

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was on TV, on his hands and knees on the bed, Simon pushing into him from behind, hands gripping his hips, accented words just loud enough - "Christ, baby, you're so tight, feel so good..." "Fuck," Jay whispered on the couch, as the Jay on TV moaned long and low and rocked back and forth as Simon started to fuck him. "See?" Simon said now. "Such a beautiful boy you are. Take me all the way in, let me fuck you slow. See your prick, baby? How hard it is? How it bobs with every thrust? Love to taste it now, reach into the TV and swallow you down." Simon's voice was hot and deep, full of desire, low and soft and his hand moved faster on Jay's cock and Jay wanted him desperately, more than he wanted to watch them on TV. "Simon - " Jay turned and stopped Simon's words by pushing his tongue down Simon's throat, and now he reached between his boyfriend's legs and they fondled each other and kissed hungrily as their little on-screen selves gasped and moaned and fucked harder. Jay could just hear them over his own breathing, could hear his TV moans and Simon's TV encouragement, could hear himself begging for Simon to touch him, could hear him telling Simon how fucking good he felt. And he could hear Simon's panting and his groans and the things he said, telling Jay he was hot and tight and perfect, Simon loved fucking him... "Knew you'd like it," Simon panted against Jay's mouth. "Knew it'd get you hot." "It's not me, it's you, it's watching you, and, and listening to you - the things you say, what you, you - " But Simon squeezed Jay's cock through his shorts, making him squeak and cutting him off. "Wanna fuck you, baby. Spread your legs, watch you come." "But I thought, I thought you wanted - the TV, the, our little porn...?" "Just to get you started. Get you excited. You want me now, yeah?" "I always, I always want you." Jay's fingers scrabbled at the button and zipper of Simon's pants, trying to get inside to feel Simon's hot flesh in his hand. "I don't know why you'd..." "Shh, baby. One sec. Listen." Simon's hand stilled briefly and for a few seconds it was quiet and Jay could hear them on TV - Simon breathlessly telling him "Come for me, baby," and his own voice crying out and then Simon moaning his name and then just their breathing, heavy and harsh, and he thought he could hear the TV boys collapse on the TV bed, and now Simon - the real Simon - was undoing his shorts and pushing a hand inside them and Jay let the image of himself fucking onscreen vanish, because this was so much better, a flesh-andbone Simon next to him, half on top of him, kissing him and touching him and pushing him down on the couch.

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"See?" Simon panted against his mouth. "What a couple, yeah? Me and you and a camera. Can market that, we can. Get boys everywhere hard at the sight of you." "Not me. It's not, it's not me they want." "But it's you I want." Simon reached into Jay's shorts, pulled out his cock, pumped it hard a few times. Jay's back arched - he was lying on the couch now - and he stifled a cry as he almost came. "Not yet," Simon murmured. "Keep listening. Can you see the TV? See what else I got?" Jay turned his head with difficulty and managed to focus on the TV again, and the scene had changed. His TV self was on his back now on the bed, and TV Simon was settling between his legs, almost absently stroking his TV cock. "Morning blow job," Simon said in Jay's ear. "Didn't know I turned it back on, did you?" "Asshole," Jay panted, although he didn't really mean it. How could he, when Simon was pulling off his own pants now, leaning over to find the lube that they'd hidden under the couch, tugging at Jay's shorts and clearly getting ready to fuck him until he screamed? How could he get mad at your boyfriend for a little thing like making a home movie, when the said boyfriend did things like this to you? "Got a nice one, yeah." Simon settled between Jay's legs, mimicking the TV porn pose, popped the cap on the lube, and got his fingers slick and shiny. Jay grinned and tried to angle his hips better. He wasn't going to watch himself on TV anymore - he loved watching Simon, but he couldn't ignore himself, and given that he just wasn't going to watch at all. Besides, he had the real thing leaning down to kiss him and push a strong finger in his ass. "Oh... yeah." As the one finger became two and then three, as they stretched and wiggled and hit right there and Jay's hips bucked and his legs trembled and if Simon didn't stop that he was going to come. "I don't, I don't wanna - I want you to fuck me with, with your cock, not your hand..." "Right. Come on, then. Gonna feel you tight around me." Simon pulled away, spread the remaining lube on his prick, rearranged Jay's legs and Jay watched him, watched as Simon grabbed his hips and slowly thrust inside. It was fascinating, how something the size of Simon's cock just pushed inside his ass. Fascinating how his body just accepted it. "Oh, God, that's, that's good, that's so good... I love how you fuck me..." Jay lifted his hand, stroked Simon's flushed cheek, traced parted lips with a trembling finger. That was beauty, that was something worth watching - Simon above him, inside him, looking down at him and fucking him. And if Jay was pretty at all it was just because he'd caught that and merely reflected it back. "Harder, Simon, please, harder." "Ohh... baby..." Simon looked away for a minute, looked at the TV, and Jay couldn't resist. His eyes flicked sideways and he caught Simon on screen, bobbing up and down on his cock,

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sucking away happily while his TV self bucked and moaned and grabbed fistfuls of sheet and begged Simon to make him come. But then the real Simon, the one buried between his legs, started pumping harder, one hand tight around Jay's cock pumping it as well, and he couldn't watch their movie anymore. He had to look away. "Oh, God I love you," Jay panted, "so much, you're so good to me, make me, make me hard and, and make me scream - " "Shh," Simon crooned. "Shh. Listen." Jay shook his head. "No, baby, listen. You make the hottest bloody noises when I suck you. Christ, you sound good." Simon leaned down, kissed Jay hard, sucked on his tongue, nipped at his lips. "Taste good, too. But it's nothing to how you look. I know you don't believe me, baby, but I made that so you'd know. Gonna show it to you over and over and over - " each word punctuated by a deep thrust of his hips, so Jay rocked under him and moaned - "until you see. You realize how beautiful you are when you come." "Gonna come now..." "Yeah. Come for me, baby. Let me hear you scream." Jay bucked up, hips driving hard against his boyfriend, balls slapping against flesh, and he grabbed Simon's shoulders and hung on as his hips snapped and he came with a cry. "See?" Simon whispered hoarsely. "Beautiful." And then Simon was driving hard and fast and deep, rough almost, bending and fastening hard on Jay's lip so the groans as Simon came were lost down Jay's throat. Now that they were quiet except for the breathing Jay could hear the TV again, and apparently he'd come on tape already, because there were no more moans, no more sucking sounds, only Simon wishing him a good morning, and him clearly too busy catching his breath to reply. "Next time, gonna make you watch the whole thing," Simon whispered in his ear. "Gonna sit behind you and hold your head so you can't look away. Wanna see your face when you see yourself come." Simon licked Jay's neck. "Fucking beautiful, luv." "No I'm not." "Think I'd go to the trouble of getting a good copy if I didn't wanna show it to you?" "Yes. You just like people to watch you."

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"I do, at that..." Simon grinned, then shrugged Jay's legs off his shoulders and pulled out. He rearranged both of them so he was laying half on top of Jay again. "Don't hear you complaining." "Well, yeah. I like watching you." Now Jay grinned back, much more comfortable talking about how hot Simon was, instead of how hot he was. He'd just never be able to see it, no matter how many times Simon made him watch. He'd always end up focusing on his sexy blond boyfriend instead. "I know you like to listen," Simon said. Jay blushed. Simon kissed him lightly, brushed the hair back from his face. "C'mon, shower. Wash the sticky off." "You didn't put a camera in the bathroom, did you?" "'Course not." Simon snorted. "Get all fogged up. Might catch some nice noises, though. Reckon you'd listen to yourself getting off? Won't have to see anything." "It doesn't matter what I say, does it?" Jay knew he was the color of a sunset from the way Simon was grinning at him. "No," Simon said cheerfully. "Let you check first, how's that? Make sure I'm not gonna enter you on 'Candid Camera' or one of those home video shows." "Okay, okay." Jay gave him a shove and Simon obediently climbed off. Simon pulled off his shirt and held out his hand to help Jay to his feet. As soon as they were both standing and completely naked, Simon dragged Jay off to the bathroom. It wasn't until Simon was fingering him in the shower that Jay realized they'd left their homemade porn in the DVD player. He just hoped no one came home and found it before he could rescue it - bad enough he had to watch himself, he couldn't handle the thought of his other roommates watching him have sex. He'd make a horrible porn star. But right then Simon's fingers crooked deep in his ass, making him shake and moan, and he decided to worry about it later. *** Simon was drunk - well, not drunk, but definitely buzzed - either that or he was a little high and Jay was humoring him, although he didn’t really mind, all things being equal, and that was why they were on their knees on the bedroom floor, in front of that mirror Simon bought, naked and sweaty and hard. At least, Simon was on his knees. Jay was leaning forward on his arms. Ass in the air, legs spread, taking his boyfriend in as far as he could. Simon babbled behind him, above him, which must have meant something because usually Jay was the babbly one, and Jay couldn’t understand half of what Simon was saying but it all

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sounded good to him, nonsense and guidance and what he could swear was love flowing over his head in that voice he adored, deep and a little hoarse and lately he'd noticed that sometimes when Simon had had a lot to drink or was really tired or really stoned his accent got stronger and weirder, more of what he must have sounded like when he was fifteen, mixed with all the accents he must have absorbed to hide it. That might explain why Jay could only understand half of what Simon said now. Simon's hybrid accent was breaking down into its component parts. "Simon," he said, "Simon, please, touch me..." "Up with you now," was the answer, as Simon wrapped an arm around Jay's chest and hauled him upright so they were both kneeling in front of the mirror, back to chest, Jay in Simon's lap, Simon holding him up and thrusting into him deep and slow. "You're so beautiful," Simon murmured, and these words Jay understood. "Look at yourself, baby. Look. Look at us. My beautiful boy, my eager willing boy, look at your face, your prick. Look. Look." But Jay couldn’t. He still couldn’t watch himself. He didn’t think he'll ever be able to watch himself. His head fell back against Simon's shoulder and he turned his head and they kissed sloppily, distractedly, and now he could take himself in hand so he did, long fingers wrapped trembling around his cock, pulling in time with Simon's thrusts. "I don't wanna watch me," he said. "I'm not beautiful, I'm just, I'm me." "No, no, listen to me. Listen. Listen, luv. I only do the pretty ones. Only want the pretty ones. Only ever stayed with the pretty ones. It's love that makes you beautiful, baby, the way you love, you take me in, let me fuck you hard and slow. You want that, yeah? Could do this all night, could fuck you forever, so tight you are, still, so hot. Love how you feel around me, how you taste." He bent his head, licked Jay's shoulder. "Salty. Bit of soap. Taste like you. Don't wanna come, just wanna stay here inside you. Watching you. Watching you watching me." Simon's arm was still wrapped around Jay's chest, holding him close, and now Simon's other hand reached up, grabbed Jay's chin, forced his head down and forward so he had no choice but to look at their reflection. Two sweaty flushed boys on their knees, hips moving forward and back, rising and falling, his hand sliding up and down his shaft, Simon's hand on his chest moving to roll a nipple between strong fingers. Jay's back arched. He gasped. His hand stuttered for a second. "Look," Simon rasped. "Fucking beautiful, you are." He nibbled Jay's ear, tugged on the lobe with his teeth, and then he was singing, some song Jay didn’t know, low and deep and hoarse, more air than words hot in Jay's ear. Maybe something Simon knew as a little boy, something someone used to sing to him. It didn’t sound like English, but Jay was bad with languages and couldn’t tell what it is.

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And then he knew. It was Greek. Simon was singing him a song from Greece. "I love you," Jay panted. He couldn’t say it enough times. He'd never be able to say it enough times, and just as Simon had babbled at him before it was his turn now, three words repeated over and over as his boyfriend - his strong blond boyfriend, the beautiful one by anyone's standards - as Simon sang to him and held him and played with his nipples and thrust into him again and again, the ring in Simon's cock brushing Jay's sweet spot and making him soar. "I love you. I love you. I love you." And, "I know," Simon whispered, breaking off the song and pressing teeth into Jay's shoulder, not quite a bite, not hard enough to break the skin, but it would leave a mark, a faint open-mouthed oval of dents, and Simon murmured, "Come for me, beautiful, let it go, let it out," and Jay sobbed his boyfriend's name and shot over his hand, come spraying between his fingers, and he could feel Simon's balls slapping against his ass, could feel Simon buried deep inside him coming and coming as well. "Look, baby, look," Simon panted into his shoulder. "Look up. Look at yourself. See how lovely you are." But Jay only shook his head. "Stay here with me," Simon went on. His accent had slipped back to what Jay knew. Maybe that meant he'd gotten control of himself again, or he was coming down from his high, or something. "Just sit here. Let me stay inside." Simon wrapped both arms around Jay now, rested his head on Jay's shoulder. "How come you never tell me, you never say it?" Jay asked. "Tell you what?" "You love me." "Tell you every day, luv. You're just not listening. Every night I come home to you. Every morning you wake up next to me. Every time I laugh at you. Every time I suck you off, fuck you, want you to fuck me. Every kiss. Every bite. Every... everything. Don't have to say it. You have to listen better." "Yeah, but..." "Every day I don't run." Simon kissed Jay's shoulder. "See?" He must have been drunk or stoned, Jay thought, he'd never have admitted it otherwise. Jay had been with Simon long enough and knew him well enough to understand that.

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After a while Jay could feel his ass going numb - not that he really minded sitting there with Simon all the way inside him, even though Simon's cock had gone soft, those thighs were muscled and hard - and Jay wasn’t sure but he thought Simon might have been asleep on his shoulder, because that's what it looked like from the reflection, so he shifted around, nudged backwards, softly called Simon's name, added "Come on, please wake up, let's go to bed." "Right," Simon mumbled, shaking himself. "Fuck. Crashing hard." Jay had to move first so he did, climbing off with only a tiny amount of stiffness, and then he stood up and offered Simon his hand, pulling him to his feet and both of them falling on the bed. They spooned against each other under the blanket, Simon's breath warm and even on Jay's shoulder, an arm heavy and comforting around his waist. "I love you," Jay said again, quietly, fingers stroking the back of Simon's hand. "Agapi mou," Simon murmured. "What?" But Simon was asleep. And in a minute Jay was, too.

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PART SEVEN – YOU CAN’T GO HOME AGAIN Chapter Fourteen "Simon - " "Yeah?" "If I went home to visit, would you go with me?" "You are home." "No, I mean home-home. Boise. My sister's graduating from high school and I wanna go." "You what?" Simon sounded like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Jay rolled over to face him.

"I wanna go. Congratulate her, wish her luck. I want you to come with me."

"You're mad," Simon said decisively.

"Maybe. But I feel like if I don't go now, see her and, and my mom, I'll never see them

again."

"Got nothing to do with showing up your dad, now does it."

"I don't know. Maybe?" In fact the thought of seeing his dad again made Jay nervous to the

point of paralysis, but that was one of the reasons he wanted Simon to go with him. Simon wouldn't be afraid. "I'm happy now. I think, I think I'll be okay. I mean in general. I want them to know that. And, um, if they forgot me? I want them to remember." Clearly that was the right thing to say, because Simon leaned in and kissed him.

"Maybe I will go," Simon said, "just to see their faces. When is it, then? This graduation?"

"Two weeks. Saturday."

Simon blinked. "Don't give me much time, do you?"

"I didn't know either until a couple days ago," Jay protested. "My Aunt Geri said I should've

called her sooner."

"Your who?"

"Aunt Geri. I called her," Jay admitted sheepishly, "and asked if she knew when Lily's

graduation was. I figured it had to be soon." And then he blushed, because he knew how

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Simon felt about him calling his family. What he didn't mention was that Aunt Geri had moved since the last time he'd talked to her, and he'd wanted to talk to her so badly he'd had to track her down across a couple of states. Simon just sighed. "And what did she say?" "She wants to see me. She got divorced. She moved back to Boise. She said - she said - " He

couldn't finish.

"Said what?"

"If, if people ask about me, my dad tells them - he says I'm dead."

"Fucking hell." Simon's face hardened and he grinned wolfishly. "Well, then, won't we be a

surprise?"

"We?"

"Yeah, sure."

Now it was Jay's turn - he threw his arms and legs around Simon and kissed him soundly.

"I love you. Have I told you that?"

"Once or twice, yeah." Simon grinned. Simon's hand was warm low down on Jay's back and

Jay was so happy he could - well, he could kiss Simon again. "One thing," Simon went on.

"Not taking the bloody bus this time."

"Oh, God no. It takes like a day and a half. Aunt Geri said we should fly in Friday night and

stay with her, and then Saturday we'll go to the graduation and then she'll take us to the

airport so we can come home."

"She know I'm coming?"

"I, um, I said I wanted to bring a friend. She thought I meant, like, a girlfriend. I said no, you

were a boy."

"She know who I am, then? Who I am to you?"

"Yes?"

"Don't sound so sure, do you."

"I said, um, I said you were my boyfriend." He cringed involuntarily. He was never sure how

Simon felt about total strangers knowing that. Although everyone at the Pleasure Principle had known for a long time, and Simon never tried to argue with them.

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Now Simon just chuckled. "And then what did she say?"

"She said, 'Oh.' And then she said she'd always kind of suspected, and you could come, too, if

I really wanted you to, but she didn't feel right about us sharing a room so you'd have to sleep

on the pullout couch."

"Huh." Simon didn't seem offended and Jay was glad. "Slept in worse places. Right. What's a

flight to - where we going again?"

"Boise."

" - a flight to Boise run?"

"Um. Three hundred dollars."

"Three hundred dollars?"

"Yeah. And it's, um, it's a long trip. Like four or five hours. And we'll have a two-hour

layover in Seattle on the way there."

"Christ, luv, don't need to tell off your dad that badly. Can ring him just as easy."

"Aunt Geri said she'd buy my ticket and we just have to pay for yours. I can get half of it, I

know I can. You just need like one-fifty."

Simon snorted. "Won't ask where you plan to find that."

"Simon, please, you have to go with me. I can't go by myself." Jay ducked his head. "But I

want to. I never - I didn't graduate from high school. I left first. But I feel like I missed something, and I wanna know what. I need to see what I missed." "Not much, from what I can tell."

"But I need to see for myself. I wanna know, I wanna know what would've happened if I'd

stayed. If, if it would've been better than, than this. If it would've been better if I hadn't left."

"Oh, Jay..." Simon's hand snaked between them to cup Jay's chin and tilt his head up. He

wasn't sure but he thought Simon looked hurt.

"I know I wouldn't know you," Jay said, "and I really am happy here, but I keep thinking if I

stayed through high school, if I stuck it out long enough to graduate, I wouldn't have gone to,

to L.A., and I wouldn't have, I wouldn't have had to hustle, and, and none of that would've

happened. And I wouldn't be freaking out at TV shows and, and I'd have, like, a normal life.

I'd be in college somewhere. It's like I have this chance to see how high school ends, and I

wanna take it. But I'm afraid to go by myself."

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"Okay," Simon conceded softly. "Okay. I'll go with. Meet your mad family. We'll scrape the

money together. Maybe the Mikes'll give us a loan." He grinned now and kissed Jay again.

"I love you," Jay whispered. "Thank you."

"Lotta money for being gone such a short time."

"You can meet my brat sister. And, and my dad." Now it was Jay's turn to grin, imagining

Lily's face when she met his sexy British boyfriend. "You'll be the person who came the

farthest to be there. England by way of Greece."

"You know I can call your dad a wanker in Greek and he won't know. Oh, they're gonna love

me."

"Aunt Geri might, because I love you, and she loves me."

"At least someone in that forsaken place does. Remember something for me, yeah?"

"What?"

"You can't go back. What's past is past. You can see the place again, see the people, but it's

changed. You've changed. You'll never know what might've been, Jay. Can't spend time

thinking about it."

"But I don't wanna go back. Not to stay. I just wanna visit."

Simon laughed. And Jay let it go, because it was true. And Simon was going to visit with

him, and that was what he wanted.

Jay was calm during the ride to the airport two weeks later. He was calm as they checked in

and wandered around killing time. He was calm waiting in the terminal. He was calm as they boarded. He didn't start to panic until the plane pulled away from the gate to line up on the runway. Simon had casually pushed up the armrest between them and taken his hand after they were settled in their seats. Simon chattered on about nothing in particular, but when the plane started to move Jay squeezed his hand so tightly he cut himself off mid-sentence. "What's wrong?" Simon asked.

"I can't do this," Jay whispered. "I can't. I wanna get off."

"You can't get off, luv, we've pulled away from the gate."

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"I don't care. I can't, I can't." "Didn't tell me you were afraid to fly." "I didn't know." He could feel himself getting hysterical and squashed it right down. "The last time I was on a plane I was, I was twelve. Lily was a bitch the whole trip so I didn't have time to be scared. I forgot." His grip on Simon's hand tightened. He hadn't thought he'd be so terrified. He couldn't have even said what specifically he was afraid of, just that he was afraid. "Okay, it's okay. Lots of people are afraid to fly." Simon lifted their joined hands and rested them on Jay's thigh. "Promised I'd never let anything happen to you, remember? Said I'd look after you. Jay, baby, look at me. Look at me." Jay turned, looked. Simon looked completely serious, which was such a strange look for him that Jay temporarily forgot that the plane was moving, that he could hear the engines and watch the scenery sliding by in the little window over Simon's shoulder. "Listen," Simon went on. "Concentrate on my voice, yeah? Don't listen to the plane, or the passengers, or the pilot. Listen to me. Little old lady across the aisle thinks we're going to hell." Simon grinned. Jay tried to grin back. "Guess she doesn't like seeing two boys holding hands. Guess she's gonna suffer." "Simon." "Shh. Just listen. Lie back, close your eyes if it helps." Jay's hold on him had loosened enough for Simon to extricate a thumb and lightly stroke Jay's thigh. "Feel my thumb? Gonna keep touching you 'til we're airborne. 'Til the flight attendants brings the drinks cart round. Maybe the whole flight. Give you an anchor. Something solid. Okay? You still listening to me?" "Yeah. I'm sorry I was squeezing your hand so hard." Jay closed his eyes, leaned back against the seat, tried to concentrate on Simon's hand on his leg and Simon's voice in his ear, and nothing else. "No worries," Simon said. "Got a short flight to Seattle and a couple hours there. You want, we can hide in the men's room and make out. Might calm you down." From his voice Jay knew Simon was grinning. "Might get you wound up. Might be I'll have to take care of that." "Not in the airport," Jay whispered. "Jeez. It's so public." "Bathroom on the plane, then. Have to squeeze in real close." "I'm not gonna - not on the plane either." "Spoilsport."

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"I am not. I'm just, I don't like doing it in public." "Oh, you oughta see the little old lady across the aisle, luv. Bright red, she is, trying not to listen to us." Jay briefly felt Simon's lips on his neck. "Give her a flight to remember." Just then the plane picked up speed. Jay could hear the engines, could feel them. He sucked in a breath and clenched Simon's hand, all his calm lost. "We're just getting out of the way," Simon explained soothingly. "Just giving some other plane room. Looks like JAL - Japanese airline. Long flight, that, to Japan. Never did see Tokyo while I was in that part of the world. Bit curious about it. Wanna go someday? Karaoke parlors, pachinko, geisha girls? Fancy electronics? Don't have to eat sushi." Jay just shook his head. "Could take a cruise, maybe. Bit more privacy on a boat. Just enough space in the room to... swing a cat." "I think, I think I'd get seasick." "They got patches for that. Could sit out in the sun all day. Swim in the pool. Ogle the poolboys." The pilot came on to announce they were next in line to take off. "Fuck," Jay said shakily. "Just, just get it over with already." "We're moving," Simon said. "Not long now." His thumb moved back and forth over Jay's khakis. "You gonna be okay?" "No." Jay wondered if he looked as terrified as he felt. The plane turned, picked up speed again. The engines whined. "Simon..." "Right here. Feel my hand?" Jay nodded. "Right. Want you to listen to me. Just me, just my voice. You know I'd never let anything hurt you. Including planes. Won't let go of you. I'm too pretty to die, and you're with me, so we're safe. Even the little old lady's gonna be fine. Unless she strokes out thinking about us together. Might give her one pleasant dream in a life of pinched misery. You think?" Now they were definitely taking off. Jay felt the plane tilt, felt the front wheels leave the tarmac. He bit his lip. Now the back wheels were lifting, now they were accelerating, climbing, leaving solid ground and how did planes stay airborne anyway? It was like the thing about bees - they shouldn't be able to fly, but they could. Simon was still talking and Jay had lost the thread of the conversation. "It's okay," Simon said quietly. "See, we're flying. We're okay."

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But he kept talking and Jay kept listening with his eyes closed and kept holding Simon's hand until the flight attendants came around with peanuts and drinks. Jay drank his Coke and managed a grin at the little old lady across the aisle, who made a disgusted face at the back of the seat in front of her. She wasn't doing a very good job of ignoring them. Simon laughed into his shoulder. "Bet tonight she dreams about us shagging," Simon said cheerfully. "Sure you don't wanna...?" "No!" A flight attendant walking back down the aisle stopped and looked at him curiously. He shook his head and she kept going. "I mean, no," Jay continued in a softer voice. "And not tonight either. Aunt Geri doesn't even want us sleeping in the same room." "And she's the forward-thinking one in the family." Simon snorted into his apple juice, then lifted his hand to briefly stroke Jay's face. "You gonna be okay now?" "Dunno. I don't think I'm gonna like landing either." "I'll talk you through it. We got this far, didn't we. Landing's a piece of cake. Gets easier each time you do it." "If you say so." Simon's answer was to kiss him quickly, as if he knew people might be watching and didn't want anyone to freak out. "I love you," Jay whispered, after Simon had gone back to his apple juice and was noisily sucking on an ice cube. "I know," Simon whispered around his ice. "Next leg of the trip I think we get a movie." *** Jay did not like landing, as expected, and once they got off the plane and got their bearings the first place they went was a bar. Jay got a Coke and Simon got a beer and managed to get Jay to talk a little bit about Boise (which didn't sound that thrilling) and what it was like growing up there, so he'd know what he was getting into. Jay glossed over a lot of the growing-up part, but Simon was used to that. Jay had never liked talking about himself, especially when it was unpleasant, which Simon gathered a lot of it was. But anything to get Jay's mind off flying again. Afterwards they ducked into a stall in the men's room to kiss and fondle. Jay froze when they heard someone come in, and by the time the guy left Jay had changed his mind. He seemed to be getting nervous again and Simon had no option but to go back out to the terminal with him and walk around aimlessly until their flight was called.

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They lucked out on this one and scored a three-seat row with just the two of them. Simon sat in the middle, pushed up the seat arm, and took Jay's hand like he had on the flight from San Francisco, and Jay closed his eyes and leaned against the headrest as the plane taxied and then took off. Simon stroked the back of his hand and kept up a running commentary in his most serene voice, and when they finally leveled off and the seatbelt sign blinked out, Jay opened his eyes, turned his head, and gave Simon a quick kiss. "Thank you," he whispered. "I still hate it, though." "Eh, you'll get used to it." "Was it, were you scared the first time you flew?" "Nah. Too excited. Couldn't sit still. Flight attendants hated me." He didn't mention - and didn't plan to mention - that he hadn't flown nearly as often as he'd led Jay to believe, and the first time he'd taken just enough speed to make him twitchy but not quite enough to cause undue suspicion, and he spent the entire flight being told to sit down and shut up. (And the last time he'd been on a plane was when he left Thailand, and he'd landed in L.A. tired and pale and sick, and there was not one thing about that trip that was worth repeating, except that the minute he walked out of the airport and smelled the air, he almost collapsed from the sheer pleasure of being somewhere else.) "Someone's gonna trip over my legs," Jay commented, after they'd turned off the overhead lights. He wiggled his feet. He'd stuck them into the aisle. "I wish there was a train that didn't take two days. At least we could get up and walk around." "We'd have a sleeper cabin, could put down the little bed and fuck the entire trip." Jay ducked his head and blushed. Simon knew he would. "Imagine the bed rocking back and forth. Get a nice rhythm going, yeah?" "Stop it." "Just picture it, luv. Great mountains rolling by outside the window - you could stand and watch them while I pounded you from behind. Not much to bend over, and the bed's likely very narrow, but you're a skinny boy, we'd manage. Make it easier to snuggle. Push us close together." Simon's mouth was right by Jay's ear now, his hand resting on Jay's thigh. He wondered how long it would take before Jay was willing to have sex in the plane's bathroom. "But it would take two days to get there and two days to get back." "So? Four days of having our own room." "There'd be people on either side. They'd hear us."

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"But we're used to that. Got Devon, don't we? Could go down on you any time. Not like now. Can't suck you off on a plane, there's people watching. Could do it on the train, though. Pull you into the cabin, push down your jeans, swallow you whole." "Simon. Shut up. Please." "Why?" All innocence in that question. Simon grinned what he knew was a wicked, sexy grin. In the dim light cast by the floor lights and the occasional seat light Jay looked equal parts willing and stubborn. "People watching." Jay waved vaguely around the plane. "You're making me hard and, and I can't. Not here. There's nowhere to, to - you know." "Nowhere to fuck? Nowhere I can go to my knees and suck you off? Nowhere I can take you to make you scream?" "No. Not, not now. Please?" "Bathroom. Heard of the Mile High Club, haven't you?" Oh, that look was priceless. He hadn't gotten that look the first time he suggested fucking in the bathroom. "Can't even give you a proper hand job sitting here. But go in the restroom - very quiet, like - remember Man Ray? The toilets?" Another blush. "Less room on a plane, but the concept's the same. Two boys, one toilet, very quiet." He licked the side of Jay's neck, felt more than heard Jay's breath hitch. "Stop it," Jay whispered helplessly. "I mean it. I'm gonna move." "Won't let me shag you in the toilet?" "I said no the first time. It's too small, anyway." "Ah, we can stand so close it won't matter. Hip to hip, baby." Simon's hand had slowly moved up Jay's thigh to cup his balls, but now Jay picked it up and dropped it in Simon's own lap. "No. Really. I'm sorry, but I can't. I won't." "Never said no to me before." Now Simon tried to pout. "I have, too." Jay shifted in his seat. "Oh, fuck, now I'm all, I can't sit still. You ass, I have to, to go fix myself." He got up, seemed to think of something, and bent over. "Don't follow me. Okay?" Simon pouted harder. Jay left. Well, that was a bust. On the other hand, the boy wasn't nervous about flying anymore, and that was something.

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Simon took advantage of Jay being gone to walk down the aisle the other way, just to stretch his legs and get a look at the other passengers, and when he got back to their row Jay was still gone. Simon grinned to himself, wondering if Jay was stroking off in the bathroom. It was a nice image. He settled himself in the window seat, found a pillow, and tried to nap. He figured Jay would wake him if he was needed, and sure enough Jay did, poking him insistently just as the pilot came on to announce they would be landing in about fifteen minutes, and the temperature in Boise was a cool fifty-seven degrees with clear skies. "We there, then?" Simon muttered.

"I'm nervous," was the answer. Jay grabbed his hand. "Will you, will you move over? Sit

next to me?" Simon blinked himself awake and scooted over. "Aunt Geri said she'd meet us

at the baggage claim."

"Trust you'll know her when you see her."

"She's my aunt! I'll - Oh, shit." The plane had dipped a little and was now making a sharp

turn. Jay sucked in a breath and squeezed Simon's hand. "Simon..."

"We're just turning. You know what to expect this time. You'll be fine."

"I hate this, I hate this, I don't know how I'm gonna get back home."

"Same way you got here. I'll be right next to you. Tell you about private train cars,

transcontinental fucking." Simon bent his head, kissed Jay's shoulder. He didn't care if

anyone could see them. He didn't expect anyone else really cared either. "It's okay, baby. I'm

right here."

He gently shook their clasped hands and murmured in Jay's ear until they were on the ground

and moving toward the gate.

"See?" he said. "Piece of cake." Jay grinned wanly at him.

"I hated that. I love you, but I hated that."

"Maybe you should have a drink before we get on the plane tomorrow. Something to put you

right out."

"But drinking only makes me... I'll WANT to fuck you in the bathroom. I don't think so."

"Caught that, did you. Can't say I didn't try."

But Jay only made a face at him.

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And then they were leaving the plane and following the crowd down to the baggage claim, and Jay had let go of his hand and was looking for his aunt, and then a woman with short sandy-brown hair and glasses was waving at him and calling "Jason! Jason!" and Jay left Simon standing there and ran over to her and she hugged Jay tightly and it looked to Simon like Jay was finally home.

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Chapter Fifteen "Let me look at you," Aunt Geri said, holding Jay at arm's length and peering at him. "You need a haircut and you're too skinny - don't you eat?" But before he could answer she'd pulled him close again and was telling him how good it was to see him and goodness, he was tall, she almost didn't recognize him. "I missed you," Jay said, and suddenly he was conscious of other passengers and limo drivers and luggage carts and carousels and Simon standing nearby with their bag, and he didn't want to stay in the airport anymore. "Can we, can we go?" "Do you have any luggage?" "Just one bag, I think Simon's got it." He turned to point to the gym bag they'd borrowed from the Mikes to pack their clothes in, and Simon was right there behind him. "Aunt Geri, this is Simon." Simon grinned and held out a hand to shake. "And this is my aunt Geri." "You're Jason's... friend," she said, stumbling slightly over the word. Simon nodded. "Well, it's nice to meet you. You've never been to Boise, have you?" "That obvious?" Simon asked, still grinning. "A little bit." She looked Simon up and down and then shook his hand. "Well, let's get going. I imagine you're tired." Jay was actually too nervous to be tired. He hadn't seen his aunt since he was twelve, and while he'd always loved and trusted her when he was little, he didn't think she knew him anymore. So much had happened to him, he wasn't sure she'd still love him if she knew all of it. But in the car she wanted to know everything - where he'd been, how he lived, how he and Simon met, how long they'd known each other, what did Jay do, was he in school, was he working, how had he managed since he ran away, had he called home and told his parents where he was, did they know he was coming to the graduation, was he happy, where did he live, when was he coming home - everything. And he didn't know how to answer, or how much to say. He skipped over most of his time in L.A., saying only that he'd met Simon there and he'd really liked the beach. He didn't tell her he'd made a shaky living blowing businessmen in their cars, or letting Simon fuck him so people could watch. He didn't tell her about the scar on his forehead. He didn't tell her about Michael or Father John and he certainly didn't tell her about the things Simon used to do, and used to do to him. Simon sat in the backseat and was very quiet unless Aunt Geri directed a question at him, and then he was equal parts polite, amused, entertaining, and snarky. Jay knew when Simon was lying, but he didn't think his aunt could tell.

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By the time they got to Aunt Geri's apartment complex Jay had managed to turn the conversation away from himself and back to his family. Aunt Geri and his dad had never liked each other and it seemed time hadn't changed her feelings, although she thought he might like her more than he used to. "He didn't like your Uncle Dave," she said. "Maybe he's just glad that man's out of his family. I know I am." She had a two-bedroom apartment, and although it wasn't much smaller than the house she'd had when she lived in Boise the first time, it still felt half-empty to Jay. He was used to their place in San Francisco, which was loved and lived-in and increasingly full of stuff. Aunt Geri gave them the ten-cent tour, which mostly involved pointing out the bathroom, the guest room, and the pullout couch, where Simon dropped the gym bag. "Are you boys hungry?" she asked, once they'd made the circuit and come to rest in the little kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?" "I'll take a beer," Simon said. Aunt Geri raised an eyebrow at him. "How old are you?" "Twenty-two." She didn't look like she believed him. "Well," she said, "I don't have beer, but I do have Pepsi, orange juice, milk, and iced coffee, if you want anything." "Actually I'm kind of tired," Jay said. "It's been kind of a long day." "Oh, of course, I'm sorry. Jason, you're in the guest room, and Simon, I hope you don't mind the couch bed." Simon shrugged. Jay wondered if he was going to wake up at three in the morning and find Simon in bed with him anyway. "If you pull it out, Jason and I will get the sheets to make it up." Simon shrugged again and Aunt Geri led Jay into the guest room, where the extra sheets were stored in the dresser. "He seems like a nice enough boy," she said, while she went through the drawer and Jay stood there with his arms out to take the sheets and some towels. "I'm not sure about him, though. He doesn't seem entirely honest." If you only knew, Jay thought. "How did you meet again?" "In L.A.. We, we worked together. Sort of." "Hm." She pulled out a pillowcase and gave it to Jay. "Well, Jason, I'm not your mother and you don't have to listen to me, but I think you can do better." From her tone Jay could just about hear the way she'd finish the sentence - You can do better with a girl.

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"I don't want anyone else," was all he said. "I don't think he's right for you. Is he... can you trust him?" "Yeah. He looks after me. He makes me happy. He loves me and, and I love him." She looked like she didn't know what to say. Jay wondered if her issue was really Simon after all, and not just that he liked boys. But he didn't care - Simon loved him and while it would be nice if Aunt Geri could love Simon too, it didn't matter. Jay wasn't going to leave him to make his aunt feel better. "You're still young, Jason. You don't know what that means." "Yeah I do. It means I wanna be with him and he wants to be with me. It means, it means I asked him to come with me and he thought it was a bad idea but he came anyway. It means every morning I wake up and I'm glad he's still there." "I worry about you. I know it's hard for... boys like you." Boys like him? That hurt but he couldn't explain why. "I'm gonna be okay, Aunt Geri. Really. Simon's the best thing that ever happened to me. We're - " "Jay? Geri?" Simon's voice drifted down the hall. "You all right in there?" "Yeah, we're coming," Jay called back. "Hold on." He looked at the sheets and towels in his arms, then at his aunt. "I love him," he repeated softly. "I was scared all the time until I met him, and I'm still scared sometimes, but it's so much better, I'm with someone who, who loves me like I am. For the first time ever." "Jason - " "I know you love me. I love you, too. I missed you so much when you moved and I woulda gone to Minneapolis except I thought you'd just send me back home. I wanted you to like Simon, I really did, but if you don't it doesn't matter. It doesn't. He's, he's my boyfriend and we love each other, and, and that's just the way it is." And he knew it was rude but it was the only way to make his point, so he turned around and walked out of the room before his aunt could say anything. *** Aunt Geri's guest bed was comfortable enough, but Jay couldn't sleep. He felt badly about the way he'd talked to her before - she loved him and she meant well and he'd basically told her he didn't care what she thought. Simon was being particularly nice, except for the occasional snark, and Jay couldn't understand why his aunt couldn't give Simon a chance. So he'd turned

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his back to her and walked away, which to him just seemed rude and disrespectful, and he loved her more than that. He rolled over yet again, trying to find a decent spot so he could forget about it enough to fall asleep, and then he heard Simon's voice in his head - You have a right to love who you want. But if it bothers you that much, apologize to her in the morning. Now stop turning over and go to sleep. That was comforting enough and made enough sense to Jay to relax him. But he still couldn't sleep. But he'd also figured out why - the bed abutted the wall only at the head, and he didn't have anything at his back, nothing to wedge himself against for protection. Intellectually he knew no one was going to sneak up on him and he was safer here than almost anywhere, but he was so used to sleeping with someone next to him, or the back of the couch at least, that being surrounded by all that empty air made him twitch. There was only one solution and maybe he'd have to apologize to Aunt Geri for that, too, but they'd be quiet and hopefully she'd never know. It was a little deceptive and Jay wasn't by nature a sneaky boy, but he couldn't imagine lying awake all night just because his aunt, however much he loved her, was a close-minded prude. Jay rolled out of bed, tiptoed across the room, carefully opened the door just wide enough to slip through, and sneaked down the hall to the living room, where Simon was asleep on the couch bed. Simon was so cute, lying on his side with one arm under the pillow. Jay was tempted to climb under the covers and curl up next to him, except that he'd never be able to wake himself in time to go back to the guest room before Aunt Geri got up and found them. Jay leaned over and shook Simon's shoulder until he woke up and mumbled "Something wrong?" "I can't sleep," Jay whispered. "Will you, um, will you come and, and sleep with me?" Simon raised an eyebrow at him. "Thought your aunt didn't want us in bed together." "She doesn't. But I don't care. I'm too used to, to sleeping next to you. Please?" "The things I do," Simon said affably, climbing out of bed. Like Jay, he was wearing a Tshirt and his boxers, and Jay wondered if he was cold. Aunt Geri had opened some of the windows and it was a little chillier than it was at home, and Simon had always had a lower cold tolerance. He'd hate the winter up here. "Bring your pillow," Jay said. "The guest bed's only got one." They tiptoed back to the guest room, Simon with the pillow tucked under his arm, and then they tiptoed through the door, closed it behind them, tiptoed over to the bed, got in, and spooned together like they were used to.

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"Thank you," Jay said. "Oh, such a hardship this is. Proper bed, warm body next to me. Don't know if I can handle it." "Shut up." "Make me," Simon said into his shoulder. The hand over Jay's stomach drifted lower to cup his cock through his boxers. "Stop it." "No." "Simon, please, it's bad enough my aunt doesn't want us in the same bed, she'd have a heart attack if we had sex." "We'll be quiet." Simon's hips pushed against Jay's ass and his hand squeezed a little harder. Jay sucked in a breath. "I mean it," he hissed, grabbing Simon's hand and pulling it away. In response Simon ground against him and Jay could feel Simon getting hard. "We don't have any lube," he added helplessly. "Never stopped us before." Now Simon licked up his neck to his ear, which he tugged gently between his teeth. His breath was warm on Jay's skin, his leg wrapping around Jay's thigh. "The bed will - Simon, stop!" "You don't want me?" Simon managed to sound hurt and playful at the same time, and the answer was Of course I want you but Jay didn't want to wake up his aunt, and anyway there was something about having sex while she was in the next room that creeped him out a little. It was like fucking next door to your parents. "That's not it. Please, Simon, I was already rude once, I don't wanna fuck you in my aunt's house. She doesn't like it that I like boys. I think she was still hoping you'd be a girl, even though I told her on the phone I was bringing a guy." "Knew we'd be a surprise." Simon pulled his hand out of Jay's grip and had gone back to stroking, and now Jay was getting hard in spite of himself, and that ticked him off. He managed to roll over and glare. "What?" Simon asked. "I said stop. You're making me hard, and we can't. We just, we can't."

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Simon blinked. Jay remembered that not many people ever said no to him, and here he'd

done it twice in one day.

"I'm sorry," Jay said softly. "When we get home you can do anything you want to me. Just

not while we're here. Please?"

"You sure? Know we can be quiet as mice. Might calm you down, get you to sleep faster."

"I'm sure." Jay kissed him. "I'm sorry. If it wasn't my aunt, I'd be on my back begging for

you. You know I would. Tomorrow night we'll be home again and, and you can fuck me in

the shower, or on the kitchen floor, or, or anywhere. In front of the mirror. Just not right now.

Okay?"

Simon heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Okay. Fine. No nightly shag for me. Have to go to bed

frustrated and unfucked..." Simon was so cute pretending to be upset that Jay had to kiss him

again.

"Yeah, but just tonight. Tomorrow you can do me all over the apartment."

"That a promise?"

"That's a promise." Now it was Simon's turn to kiss Jay, but lightly - a good night kiss. Jay

wondered if Simon had something in mind and that was why he'd given in. He wondered

what was waiting for him tomorrow. He had a feeling they weren't even going to make it out

of the airport before Simon had his wicked way.

Maybe he should have set a parameter or two.

"Just no fucking in public, okay?" he added. Simon pouted. Jay grinned. "What'd you expect

me to say?"

"Someday you'll want that, luv. Wanna stand in the shadows and ride me with people

listening."

"Already did it in an alley. And, and a public bathroom. Twice."

"And yet not in your aunt's guest bed. At least it's a bed. More comfortable than a back alley

or a toilet seat."

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" Simon looked so innocent, you'd never believe he was still trying to get Jay to

change his mind.

"I said no."

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"Gonna have to go stroke off in the shower now."

"Then do that. I'll wait for you." Jay was still grinning. But Simon just shrugged and kissed

him again.

"Fine, luv, you win. How're you gonna explain when your aunt wakes you up in the morning

and finds the debauched British boy corrupting her innocent baby nephew?"

"I'm not. You're gonna go back to the couch bed. Can you wake yourself up at, like, quarter

to seven? And move so she doesn't find out?"

"Reckon so. Sure. Oughta keep on the good side of at least one of your relatives, yeah?"

"Yeah." Another kiss. "Thank you."

"No worries."

"I love you."

"I know. Now turn over. Go to sleep. Was the idea, as I recall."

Jay rolled over and snuggled back against Simon's chest, pulling Simon's arm tight around

him. He could sleep anywhere like this - he'd sleep on the floor if it meant Simon could lie

next to him.

"Better dreams," he whispered, to Simon and to himself, and then he was asleep.

*** Just as he'd asked, Simon woke himself up a little before seven and then woke Jay up, too. "Be thinking about how you can make this up to me," Simon whispered suggestively in Jay's ear, before kissing his shoulder, sliding out of bed, and sneaking back to the living room and the couch. Jay went back to sleep and didn't wake up until his aunt knocked on the door and asked how he wanted his eggs. "Huh?" he said stupidly, shoving the blankets back and sitting up.

"How would you like your eggs?" she repeated.

"Oh. Uh, scrambled?"

"You have fifteen minutes." She smiled at him. "Your... friend - Simon - is just getting out of

the shower, if you want to take one."

"Okay. Thanks. Uh, Aunt Geri?"

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"Yes?" "I'm sorry about last night. I was kinda rude." "It's okay, Jason, you only defended yourself. I'm not going to agree with everything you do, but I'm your aunt and I'll still love you. Now you might want to consider getting up." And she winked and left. Jay rolled out of bed thinking about that and wondering if she'd still love him if she knew all the things he'd done. He didn't think so. But he wasn't going to tell her - he'd never been a good liar but he could deflect questions he didn't want to answer, and he was getting pretty good at only telling parts of the story. Besides, he didn't want her to worry. Simon was shaving in the bathroom, standing in front of the defogging mirror wearing a towel. Jay resisted the urge to wrap his arms around his boyfriend from behind and maybe nudge the towel out of the way and put his hands on some of that clean damp skin. "Hey there," Simon said. He grinned at Jay's reflection. "She doesn't suspect a thing." I think she's ignoring it, Jay thought. I think she's in denial. But he only said "I know. So far so good. Can I take a really quick shower?" "Sure." The grin widened. "Uh... alone?" Simon raised an eyebrow and then tried to pout, which looked silly with half his face covered with shaving cream, but he finished quickly and left Jay alone to take the fastest shower in the history of fast showers. Jay felt a little better when he was done. At least, he felt better until he sat down for breakfast and Aunt Geri told him about the graduation and Lily's future plans. "She's going to the University of Washington," she said as she passed Jay butter for his toast. "In Seattle. Following her boyfriend." She sounded disapproving. Jay wanted to ask if it was the same boyfriend Lily had fucked in their parents' bedroom when she was fifteen, but kept his mouth shut. His sister had been a fickle teenager the last time he saw her and he didn't think she'd changed that much. She'd probably been through two or three boyfriends since then. "He a bad bloke?" Simon asked politely. "Not good to her?" "I don't know him that well, but she shouldn't uproot her life for a boy. My ex-husband made me do that and it was the biggest mistake I ever made. Listen to me, Jason" - and here she fixed Jay with a pointed look - "don't turn your life inside out for someone who says they love you. Don't let them cut you off from your family."

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"What if your family don't want you?" Aunt Geri looked at Simon like he was speaking Swahili, but he just looked innocently back and scooped eggs onto his toast. Clearly something like that was beyond her comprehension, which Jay thought was really funny. He wouldn't be here if his dad had treated him like he mattered. He wouldn't have left home if he thought his family actually cared. But Aunt Geri shrugged it off and went back to what Jay thought was a gentle condemnation of Lily's immediate future. It started to sound to him like Aunt Geri wanted Lily to go to a closer (and probably smaller and less urban) college so they could keep an eye on her. He just knew his parents and aunt thought she'd get into all kinds of trouble, and they were probably right. Still, she was his sister, and if she wanted to go to Seattle with her boyfriend, she should be able to. At least she got to go to college. Jay was getting a little depressed, although he couldn't have articulated why, and then Aunt Geri switched to the graduation itself and their plans for the rest of the day. "It starts at eleven," she explained, "and it should take us about half an hour to get there. Your mom wants us there early - " "'Us?'" Jay squeaked. "Did, did you tell her I was here?" "No, you asked me not to." He remembered that he had, last night in the car. "She'll be so happy to see you, though. Will you sit with us?" "I can't. I'm sorry. I don't want them to know I'm, we're there. Not until afterward. Please don't tell them?" He wondered if he sounded as desperate as he felt. He really didn't want his parents to see him until he was about to leave. He just had a gut feeling there would be a scene, and he didn't want to wreck the graduation. He'd really only come to see his sister off into the world, and say goodbye to her and his mom. If he could avoid his dad completely he'd be really happy. "Okay," Aunt Geri said cheerfully, like Jay was letting her in on a secret. "Not a word. You'll be a surprise." Her smile faded. "Just one thing, Jason. Don't expect anything from your father. I know I said he and I are getting along better, but he... doesn't talk about you. He's... " "I know," Jay interrupted, "you told me on the phone. He, he tells people I'm dead. He doesn't have a son. I know." He looked down at his plate. He couldn't think of anything that had hurt so much to hear. Not any of the horrible things Simon had said to him after he'd disappeared for three days, after the Russians. Not anything any john had ever said. Not anything he'd ever told himself. Nothing hurt like hearing your father had utterly wiped you out of your family's collective history, just because you'd run away from him.

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He felt Simon's hand on his thigh and looked up. Simon hadn't said a word but his expression was enough. Jay wished Aunt Geri was paying attention to that instead of to the graduation she'd see how much Simon loved him, she'd understand why Jay loved him back. Instead he tried to keep his voice from cracking as he asked how long she thought the ceremony would be and was there anything afterward? "We're taking Lily and some of her friends out for lunch. I did tell your mom I didn't think I'd be able to make that, so I can take you boys to the airport. Lily's going to a party tonight and I'll see her at dinner, so if I miss lunch it won't be a terrible thing. I don't know how long the ceremony is. When does your flight leave?" "Three," Simon said. "Oh, that leaves you a lot of time. Good. Maybe we'll have time for lunch." She glanced at the kitchen clock. "We should leave soon. You boys get ready and I'll clean up here. Jason, sweetheart, don't worry. Everything will be fine." Jay didn't agree, but he also didn't want to argue. He put his dishes in the sink and went to get dressed. Simon and Aunt Geri did most of the talking on the way to the high school. Jay figured his aunt had listened to him after all and was trying to get to know his boyfriend better, and he managed to keep a straight face and not say anything as Simon spun half-truths and lies like they'd actually happened. And then they were at the school and looking for a place to park, and Aunt Geri asked again if Jay would sit with her and his parents, and he said no again and reminded her not to tell them he was here. He'd started to wonder if this was such a bright idea after all. Thankfully the football field where the graduation was being held was full of milling students and families and friends, so he and Simon got programs and climbed up the bleachers to sit without being noticed by anyone who would care. "So this is your high school," Simon said. "It's big." "It's only three grades," Jay explained. "Ten to twelve. The middle school's big, too." He watched the kids wandering around in their caps and gowns, posing for and taking pictures, hugging and kissing and shrieking. He figured the girls were doing all the shrieking - he could hear them way up where he and Simon were sitting. There were chairs set up on the field in rows in front of the bleachers, facing a makeshift stage with some chairs, a podium, and a table with rolled-up diplomas stacked on it. A bunch of kids from the orchestra were setting up off to the side. It looked so wholesome and suburban middle-America, but Jay knew better.

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"Looks a bit like TV," Simon mused. He opened his program and gestured to the first page of graduates' names. "Which one's your sister, then?" Jay looked over, skimmed the list, and pointed. "That's her - Lillian Evelyn Bonney. I guess she'll be up toward the front." "What's the star mean?" "Honor Society? Dean's List? I dunno." There wasn't a star next to Lily's name, but Jay wasn't surprised. The bleachers started filling up around them and teachers herded the kids off the field to line them up. Jay watched them, trying to place himself in a cap and gown, lining up and then marching onto the field to graduate. He couldn't picture it. It was like someone else's life. In his head he was the only boy graduating with a boyfriend who was impatient for it to be over so they could have wild screaming sex. Which was a nice fantasy, but "You okay?" Simon asked quietly, putting a hand on his arm. "I dunno. I feel like I don't belong here. Like I'm - this is all really familiar, you know? But it feels weird, like it's not my life." "It's not." "I feel like people are gonna look at me and wonder what the hell I'm doing here. I'm, like, displaced. I'm not making sense, I'm sorry." Simon unobtrusively took his hand and stroked his wrist with a thumb. "You wanna leave?" "And go where? No, I came to say goodbye and, and see what I missed, and I still wanna know. I think they're starting, anyway." The graduating students processed in two lines from either side of the rows of chairs. From up here they all kind of looked the same - you couldn't see their faces under their caps, and the gowns hid pretty much all their clothes. Some of them had decorated the tops of their mortarboards; a bunch of kids had football shapes outlined in masking tape, which made Jay's stomach lurch. If he never ran into any of the jocks again he'd be a happy boy. The ceremony itself was fairly boring. The valedictorian's speech was long and dry, the salutatorian's speech was shorter and funnier, and the principal was very pompous. The graduates entertained themselves with soap bubbles and silly string and a couple of beach balls, one of which was confiscated after ten minutes. The other vanished into the lower tiers of bleacher seats. And Simon kept himself and Jay entertained with a running commentary of snark and some speculation on what the principal's wife could to do to him to loosen him up,

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or maybe he just needed a good ass-fucking. Jay blushed, scandalized, but he didn't tell Simon to shut up. Simon whistled and hooted when Lily was called up to receive her diploma, and before Jay knew it, the principal was congratulating the grads and they were moving their tassels to the other side of their caps and shouting and throwing the caps in the air, and it was over. Well, it was all over except for the confronting. Jay took a deep mental breath and led Simon off to find his sister. Not that he had any idea how, of course... Once they made it off the bleachers and down to the field he realized that this might not have been his most brilliant idea. Half the kids had lost their caps when they threw them, and in between the picture-taking and congratulating they were trying to take off their gowns so at least he'd be able to recognize Lily when he saw her, but the chances of finding her alone or with just one or two friends were looking pretty slim. And that's assuming they found her before she vanished with his parents and he never saw any of them again. "This isn't gonna work," he told Simon, craning his neck and searching the crowd. "Sure it will," Simon said. "What's she look like?" "Like me, but shorter and a girl. Her hair's probably streaked blonde. Mom might've made her wear a dress. Shit. She'll have, like, a pack of friends. Or her boyfriend that Aunt Geri doesn't like." "Don't get your shorts in a twist. We came all this way, didn't we? Can't go home without at least saying hi." Jay wasn't so sure about that. He was starting to worry that he'd run into his dad first. "Hey, you seen Lily Bonney?" Simon asked a kid with curly brown hair, who was struggling out of his graduation gown. The kid blinked. "Who?" "Lily Bonney? Pretty girl, streaked brown hair?" The kid shook his head, balled up his gown, and walked away. Simon looked at Jay and shrugged. But ten minutes later a girl with pink-tipped hair and a fitted white shirt pointed them in the right direction, and Jay and Simon caught up to Lily just as another girl gave her a hug goodbye. Jay had no idea what to say to her, but she turned around, saw them, and the first words out of her mouth were, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

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"I came to wish you luck?" Jay said tentatively. Lily raised an eyebrow at him. She looked remarkably like Simon when she did that. "Mom and Dad know you're here?" "No." "You gonna shock the hell out of them, too?" "I hope not." "Well, shit." She put her hands on her hips and looked him up and down. She'd unzipped her gown but hadn't taken it off, and under it she was wearing light brown hipster pants and a pale pink spaghetti strap top, and her hair really was an artificial-looking, streaky blondishbrown. "Okay, hi," she conceded. "Where've you been? Who're you?" she asked Simon. "Simon Kay," Simon said, sketching a short bow. Jay knew it was a mocking gesture but didn't think Lily would get that. "Might've talked to you on the phone once." Her eyebrow rose higher into her hair but she almost looked impressed. "You're English?" she asked. She almost sounded impressed, too. "What're you doing with my brother? You could do so much better." "Oh, I'm in it for the sex, luv. He fucks like a dream. Never shagged a tighter arse." Lily's mouth dropped open in shock, but she recovered quickly. "You don't get out much, do you?" she said, snark firmly in place. Simon shrugged. "Get out more than you do, I reckon. Been around long enough to know the good things when I find 'em. Don't take the people that love me for granted." "I just came to congratulate you," Jay interrupted, before the two of them got into a fullblown snarking session. He knew Lily could insult with the best of them, and Simon would keep at her until he got the reaction he wanted, and Jay wasn't up to listening to them trade barbs. Besides, he knew Simon didn't think much of his sister, and didn't want to give him the chance to show her. "And I wanted to say goodbye, 'cause I didn't before." "You fucking left me, you asshole," Lily snapped, her sarcasm forgotten. "I know. I'm sorry. I couldn't, I couldn't stay. Aunt Geri said you're going to Seattle for college. That's good, you'll get away from here." "Why do you think I'm going to Washington? I can go as an in-stater. Mom and Dad won't pay for me to go anywhere else, and I can't afford it myself. I'm gonna use them to get the fuck out of here, and I'm never coming back." She pointed a finger at Jay's chest. "That's your fault, you fucker. You left and they came down on me. My life's been hell."

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"If it was that bad," Simon interrupted calmly, "you wouldn't still be here." She glared. "You don't know, you weren't there. I'm still pissed at you," she said to Jay. He didn't know how to answer that, so he didn't. This wasn't turning out quite the way he'd expected, but he couldn't say he was surprised. "Did you wanna come with me?" he asked. "I sat on a bus for two days." "No. But you could've - I don't know! You could've stayed home!" "No I couldn't," he said quietly. "I just, I couldn't. Trust me, Lily, I had to go. I'm sorry, I really am. But I wanted to see you graduate, because one of us had to, and, and I wanted to know you were doing something besides staying here. I wanted to make sure you were okay." And that shut her up. She stared. Simon took his hand and Jay thought maybe Lily was staring at that, but no, her eyes hadn't left his face. "Asshole," she said again, but softly this time, like she wasn't sure she really meant it. "You had to come back, didn't you? Dad's gonna burst a blood vessel, he's gonna kill you. And then me, 'cause he'll think I had something to do with it." "He tells people I'm dead, Lily." Simon's fingers tightened around his. "I'm sorry. Really. I am. Please, Lily, please believe me. And when you go to college? Don't come back." "You think I'm crazy? I told you, I'm never coming back. This city can kiss my ass. Mom and Dad, too." "Good." Jay grinned at her, but she didn't grin back. She still looked a little pissed off at him. "Congratulations, Lily. I'm proud of you. I always thought you were tough. You were tougher than me." "Got that right." "Good luck in Seattle. Take care of yourself, okay? And, um, if your boyfriend's not good to you, leave him. You can come visit me." "Oh, Christ, no," Simon muttered. "Not having her in my house." "Like I'd wanna see your little den of perversion anyway," Lily said off-handedly. "Probably full of skeevy porn and sex toys." She shuddered, but then her expression changed and much to Jay's surprise she said, "Dad's coming. You might wanna take off now. Avoid the screaming." And she smiled, a little bitter smile that nevertheless held a trace of affection. "Go on," she said. "Asshole."

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Jay let go of Simon's hand and took a step forward to hug his sister, maybe kiss her goodbye, but she took a step away from him. "What'd I say?" she demanded. "Jesus, Jay, I'm saving your ass. Go on!" She turned to Simon, said, "You be good to him, okay?" And then she was gone, to head off Dad at the pass and give Jay a chance to escape. "Well, fuck me," Simon said. "Didn't expect that." "Me either," Jay said. "I think she's gonna be okay. She hates me, but she's gonna be okay." "How're you?" "I don't know. I said goodbye. I wished her luck. I wish she didn't hate me so much." "You ready to go yet?" "I think I wanna say goodbye to my mom, too. Tell her I'm okay. And I don't trust Lily to keep a secret, and she's gonna tell them I was here and I don't want Mom to think I don't love her." Simon was looking at him strangely, almost sadly. "What?" "Nothing, luv. These people drove you away and you won't let go of 'em. You're mad." "Maybe. But they're my family, you know? And don't tell me I can choose my family, I know that, I just..." He realized he was about to fall apart and got a grip on himself. "I'm sorry. I expect too much, I know. I just wanna see my mom and then we'll get Aunt Geri and go home. Okay?" "Okay. Least I got to meet your bratty little sister. She's a piece of work." "Yeah, she was always like that. She'll never come to San Francisco, you know that, right?" "Reckoned so, yeah. Have to take her to the Dungeon North if she did." Simon grinned his white wolfish smile and Jay was tempted to kiss him because he knew Simon loved him even though Simon teased him and embarrassed him and told him he was being stupid and still made him do things he didn't really want to do. He'd always just assumed his parents loved him, because parents were supposed to love their kids, the same way kids were supposed to love their parents. But he'd never assumed that about Simon. "I love you," Jay whispered, because they couldn't kiss each other, not now and certainly not here. "I'll try and be quick, I promise. I'll try not to, to expect anything. I just wanna say hi, okay?" "Okay, okay. You talk. I'll be quiet."

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"Well, you can say hi, you know. 'Hi, Mum.'" Simon cracked up at Jay's terrible imitation of his accent. "Can't have you using that on other people. Let's go, yeah?" They waded back into the crowd, which was thinning out a little, in search of Jay's mom. It felt to Jay like they found her in no time at all. She was talking to Aunt Geri and since he and Simon were approaching from the side, almost from behind her, she didn't see them until they were right there. "Hi Mom," he said. She blinked at him like she couldn't believe what she was seeing, then she looked at Aunt Geri like Aunt Geri was putting her on. Aunt Geri smiled. Jay felt Simon's hand low down on his back. He didn't know what else to say. "Jay...?" his mom said. "What are you doing here?" And then, hopefully, "Are you coming home?" "I can't." He shook his head. "I, um, I came to - to - I missed you, Mom." "Oh, honey..." She hugged him tightly. "I didn't think we'd ever see you again." "I didn't either. I'm sorry I never said goodbye. I tried to call and, and I sent you a couple letters, just to let you know I was okay - I don't know if you got them - I didn't want you to worry about me." "Where are you living now? Why can't you stay?" "I live in San Francisco." His mom pulled away from him and looked up, searching his face. He hadn't realized what a little person she was. He wondered if Simon would say it was just that he'd grown up. "San Francisco?" she repeated, sounding a little concerned. "Why did you go to such a big city? It can't be safe." "No, it is. I like it. It's really a nice place. I have a job and an apartment and a, a, a boyfriend." He reached for Simon, pulled him over. "Mom, this is Simon. Simon, this is my Mom." "Nice to finally meet you," Simon said politely. "Jay talks about you quite a bit." "All good things, I hope." She laughed a little nervously, and she had the same expression Aunt Geri had had last night, the one that said she was a little thrown that Jay had a boyfriend, because she'd hoped he would bring a girl. "Of course. He's a good boy, you oughta be proud of him."

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But she didn’t answer. Instead she asked Jay "How long are you staying? Did you see Lily?

She'd want to see you."

"She's pissed at me," Jay said. He remembered his mom was good at denial. "But yeah, I saw

her. I wished her luck." She saved me from having to talk to Dad.

"Have you seen your father?"

"Not yet," Simon said. "Wanna meet him. Ask him what the fuck he's thinking."

"Simon, shut up," Jay told him, and then, as if that had conjured him out of nowhere, Jay's

dad appeared.

"Let's go, Bea," he said to Jay’s mom, "we'll be late." He muttered something about girls who

had no idea what "on time" meant. "You coming?" he asked Aunt Geri. She shook her head.

"Jason," Jay's mom started to say to her husband, her hand on her son's shoulder.

"We don't have time. You can gossip later." He looked at Jay, looked right through him, and

turned and walked away.

Dismissed. No, not even dismissed. Denied. As if Jay was a ghost. As if he'd never been.

"I'm so sorry, Jay," he heard his mom say. "You know how he is."

"You let him," Jay said. "You never stuck up for me. You let him - you let him tell people

I'm, I'm dead." He closed his eyes. The world had started to blur alarmingly. He wanted to go

home. Simon was right - this had been a bad idea.

A hand on his arm - "Stay here" - that was Simon.

"Jason." That was Aunt Geri.

"Can you get the car?" Jay asked. "Please? I think it's time to go." "I'm so sorry," he heard his mom say again. She hugged him, kissed his cheek, whispered, "I always loved you, Jay. Remember that." He opened his eyes and she held him at arm's length and for once actually seemed to see him. "You're so skinny, don't you eat?" "Goodbye, Mom," he said. "I love you."

"I love you, too. I have to find your sister now." And his mother walked away and was gone.

And it was over.

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He needed to get Simon and go home. Simon who was talking to his dad. Actually talking to him. Oh, shit. *** Simon yelled "Oi! Dad!" in the direction of Jay's father's retreating back, then jogged to catch up to the man, stand in front of him, and make him stop. Jay's dad was Jay's height and twice Jay's width, and Simon reckoned the guy could break him over his knee with no trouble. But Simon hadn't been afraid of someone's father since he was tiny, and he certainly wasn't afraid now. "You're a class A wanker, you know that?" he said. Jay's dad didn't seem to hear him. "Can't figure why but your boy still thinks you give a shit. Least you can do is say hello." "Who are you?" Jay's dad asked, looking annoyed. "Name's Simon. Jay's boyfriend." Jay's dad flinched, unless it was a trick of sun and shadow. Simon allowed himself a small congratulatory smirk. "You wish he'd turned out like you, yeah? Big and close-minded? Bit of a bully? Guess what, dad." Simon stepped up very close, tilting his head to look Jay's father in the face. He could tell he was pissing the man off, and he was glad. Bastard couldn't ignore this, shouldn't ignore them. "Your useless little boy saved my life. He's that strong. You couldn't make him another you, but you couldn't break him either. How's it feel to be a failure?" And Simon grinned, the grin he knew was white and wolfish and knowing, and he stepped away, and winked, and walked back to where Jay was waiting. "What did you say to him?" Jay asked. He looked worried. "Nothing, luv. Said hi, introduced myself. Ready to go?" *** Jay managed to push everything down - his parents, his sister, his aunt, what his dad and Simon might have said to each other - and so he kept himself together through lunch (they went to a diner) and the ride to the airport. He kept himself together while they waited to board the plane. He even kept himself together when Aunt Geri hugged him and told him she loved him and he was always welcome, and after a moment she added that Simon was always welcome with him. Jay thanked her for everything, said he'd pay her back for the plane ticket, told her he loved her, too. And then they were calling final boarding for the flight and he and Simon took their bag and got on the plane.

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He didn't let himself think about anything (aside from not throwing up) until the plane had leveled out and the seatbelt sign winked off, and then he just gave up and let it all settle on his shoulders. His head dropped into his hands and it was hard to curl into a ball on a plane seat, but he tried. "Jay," Simon said, pulling on his shoulder. "C'mere, luv." Jay lifted his face and now he wanted to lie down with his head in Simon's lap but there wasn't room for that either, so he settled for scooting closer and resting his head on Simon's shoulder. Simon put an arm around him. "You were right," Jay said, "It was a bad idea. I'm sorry I dragged you with me." "No worries. You okay?" Jay shrugged. He wasn't okay but he didn't know how to explain it. "I thought - I don't know what I thought. That it would be okay, maybe. That things would be different. That, that they'd be glad to see me..." He should have known better. He was crazy and Simon was right about that, too. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I can't, I can't let go. They're my family, you know? They're supposed to love me. And they - they - " He had to stop. He was going to cry and he didn't want to, not on the plane. Not in public. Simon's arms tightened around him. "Gonna be okay, baby. Trust me." "No, it's not gonna be okay. I don't - they don't want me. Not like, like, not the way I am. Jesus, Simon, I was so stupid. But I had to know, I had to, to - I wanted to say goodbye." "You did say goodbye." "I guess." "Listen to me." Simon's voice dropped, probably so no one else could hear them. "You listening?" Jay nodded, at least as well as he could with his face turned to Simon's shoulder. "Said you could pick your family, yeah? Told you to let it go. You didn't. Maybe you can't." He felt Simon kiss the top of his head. "You got people that care about you, luv. People who like who you are. The Mikes can be... your maiden aunts. The dotty unmarried ones. Devon's like the black sheep cousin. Folks at the shop - Beata acts like your sister, she does. Looks out for you. You got me." Simon's shoulder lifted under Jay's head in a negligent shrug. "Know I'm not much, but I'm here. Said I'd take care of you. Said I wouldn't leave. That's your family. That's the people that love you. Right?" "Simon - "

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"Still listening? Good. Won't say this again. Your dad's a fucking cunt. Your mum's a mouse. Lily's got her own crap. Your aunt, right, she loves you. But she won't do a bloody thing. They're nothing, Jay. Shouldn't mean anything. They don't want you." "Fuck you." But his voice sounded tired, even to him. He knew Simon was right. He'd said it himself. Aunt Geri did love him, he knew that, and he believed her when she said he was always welcome, and he figured if he ever had to, if he ever had nowhere else to go, he could go back to her and she'd take him in, and she'd take care of him and she'd still love him. But she was the only one, and yesterday was the first time he'd seen her in six years. His parents, who were supposed to love him and look out for him, who were supposed to support him and encourage him, had let him go. His dad had driven him out and his mom had let it happen. He'd wanted to know what might have happened if he hadn't left home, and now he thought he knew. The smartest thing he'd ever done was get on that bus a year and half ago. That saved his life. Not Simon, not San Francisco. A single one-way bus ticket. "Jay," Simon said, concerned and soothing at the same time, "Jay, baby, don't cry." Jay hadn't realized he was, but now he felt Simon's shirt wet under his cheek, and his shoulders were shaking in Simon's arms. "Just trying to help. Someday you'll get it. You'll know." "I'm sorry." Jay sniffled. "I'm just, I'm so fucked-up. I was gonna be so tough, you know? I was, I was gonna stand there and, and make Dad really see me, talk to me, and, and I didn't. I couldn't. Lily was gonna be happy to see me. Mom was gonna love you. So was Aunt Geri. They were gonna be happy that I was happy. And, and - it's over. It's over." "Oh, no, luv, it's just beginning." Jay couldn't answer that - he didn't know how - so he let Simon shoo away the flight attendants with their drinks and snacks, and he just sat there letting his boyfriend hold him and trying to work things out in his head so he could let go like he'd been taught. Simon held him in silence all the way to Seattle, and then from Seattle to San Francisco, and Simon held his hand on the BART and on the bus, and it wasn't until they were home, standing on the landing in front of the apartment door - not until then did Jay hug him back, and kiss him gratefully and tell him the only important thing: Thank you. I couldn't have done it myself. I love you. Devon had left a note on the bathroom door - "Getting sick. Gone to bed. Please be quiet!", so Simon suggested to Jay that they take a nice quiet relaxing bath, but Jay said no, he wanted to go to bed. He was tired everywhere that it was possible for a person to be tired, body, bone, and soul, and he just wanted to take off his clothes that smelled like airplanes

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and airports, and lie on his own bed with his own boyfriend, and not do anything, and just be home. But Simon must have decided he'd been good and supportive long enough, because once they were undressed he got the handcuffs out of the dresser and reminded Jay, "You said you'd let me do anything I wanted, when we got home." "Not those. Please."

"One hand."

"No hands. God, Simon, you can't - I'm not gonna change overnight. I'm not gonna be who

you want just like that."

"Didn't say you should do. One hand to the bed, you've done that before." Simon stroked his

face, kissed him lightly. "Can be quiet. Make you relax. Make you feel good. Bring you

home, yeah?"

"What if, if, what if I did it to you? Cuffed you to the bed?"

Simon grinned. "You serious?" Jay nodded, suddenly shy and blushing. All the things they'd

done and he still blushed. In the grand scheme of things, cuffing Simon to the bed was no big deal, but suggesting it, and then realizing he wanted to do it, made Jay feel unusually aggressive and a little embarrassed. "I think, I think I want to. Show you how, how, how grateful I am that I have you."

"Don't have to thank me, luv."

"But I want to. 'Cause I can."

"Okay." Simon was grinning hugely now. "Want me on my back? My front?"

"Your back. So I can see you."

Simon obediently lay down on his back, arms stretched over his head. Jay snapped one cuff

around his wrist, pulled the other cuff around a slat in the headboard, and snapped it around Simon's other wrist. Simon tugged on them, still grinning. "Got just enough give," he said. "Gotta be quiet for Devon, yeah?"

"I can be quiet," Jay said, trying and failing to sound offended. He stretched out next to

Simon, half on top of him, and kissed him. "You're the one who's gonna want to scream."

"So sure of yourself. Think you can make me?"

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"Uh-huh," Jay said distractedly, searching Simon's face for a clue what to do next. He didn't see one. He'd have to wing it. Well, what would Simon do to him? "Safe word?" "Don't need one," Simon said quietly. "I trust you. Not gonna ask you to stop." Jay slid over on top of him, straddled him, and sat up. Simon was grinning still, pale blue eyes bright. They'd left the light on. Jay leaned down, took Simon's face in his hands and kissed him - just tasting him, playing with him, taking his time. Simon's mouth tasted like the cranberry juice he'd had when they got home, laid over the sharp aftertaste of Altoid and the faint sour tang of the beer he'd had on the plane. He tasted like Simon and his mouth was warm and his body was hard, and he'd started rocking underneath Jay, too impatient to just lie back and take whatever Jay decided to give him. "Didn't tie me up just to kiss me, now did you?" Simon teased. "Can do that any time." "But I like kissing you." "Course you do. Lots more you can do to me, though. I'm all yours. Can't fight you." He rattled the handcuffs to prove his point. His eyes were wicked. He licked at Jay's lips. "Tell you what I want - you wanna know?" "Yes." "Wanna have to bite my tongue to keep from screaming and waking Devon. Wanna have to beg you to let me come. Want you to take control. Tease me. Please me. Your mercy, yeah?" "Yeah..." Jay had an idea. He had a couple of them. "Wanna lick you all over now. Don't come until I say. Like that?" "Just like that." Simon was flushed already and smiling. "Already hard for you, luv. Give me a reason." Jay kissed Simon again, harder this time, until they were both out of breath, and then he pulled away and slid down Simon's body, nipping and sucking along throat and over collarbone, where he paused to suck hard enough to bring up a mark. Simon moaned softly, encouragingly, and Jay could feel Simon's cock twitch against his skin. "Mine," he whispered against the bruise. "So you know I was listening." So Simon would know Jay believed him about what made a family. So Simon would know Jay realized it took more than an accident of genetics. So Simon would know Jay had chosen him.

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Jay licked at the fresh mark and switched his attention to Simon's nipple ring. Now this was fun. Jay could tug on it, flip it back and forth, push it down and suck on the nipple. It made Simon crazy, if the swallowed moans and all the wriggling were anything to go by. Simon wrapped both legs around Jay and rubbed against him, and Jay could hear the tink as Simon pulled against the cuffs. "Good, baby," Simon panted. "Don't stop." Jay moved his head to play with the other nipple, the scarred one. He knew most of the nerve endings were either numb or dead and he wouldn't get the same reaction, but it didn't seem fair to ignore it. In his head this particular scar was a reminder of the way things used to be, and hadn't Simon said on the plane that they were just beginning? He felt like he was soothing old hurts, erasing the past or at least replacing the bad parts with something good. "I love you," he said into Simon's skin, then lifted his head to grin at his boyfriend, flick the nipple ring with a finger, and slide farther down. Simon's legs parted for him, falling to either side as Jay's mouth and tongue traveled over chest and belly, skimming navel, coming to rest when his chin bumped the base of Simon's cock. He settled between Simon's thighs and looked up again. Simon strained against the cuffs; Jay could see the muscles pulling in Simon's neck and shoulders. He had an odd, unfamiliar sense of his own power, knowing he could do anything - or nothing - and Simon couldn't resist. It was up to him whether Simon came or not. What a strange thing, to be so in control. Simon could give him direction, which he could choose to ignore, but Simon couldn't stop him. It was actually a little scary, realizing that. A little scary but exciting, too, because Simon was hard for him, wanted his mouth, his hands. Simon wanted him. Simon trusted him. Simon loved him. Jay licked up the length of Simon's cock, starting in the dark blond curly hairs at the root and traveling slowly to the leaking tip, where he teased the Prince Albert with his tongue like he'd teased the nipple ring. Simon arched and moaned, and might have even said something, and Jay swiped across the slit before slowly, deliberately, taking most of Simon's cock in his mouth. Hot skin and musk, a little salty, a little bitter, and no one else tasted like this, sweat and desire and blind need filling his mouth and nudging the back of his throat. He forced himself not to gag as his head bobbed up and down and he fondled Simon's balls with one hand, heavy sacs warm in his palm. Above him Simon moaned and panted encouragement, telling him how good it felt, how hot his mouth was, how clever his tongue. And Jay just sucked in his cheeks and pulled harder.

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He wanted Simon on hands and knees now, tight ass in the air just begging to be licked and teased and stretched and probed with an insistent tongue. Jay wanted to taste him everywhere, wanted to leave another mark where no one else would see. Simon was writhing underneath him now, back arching and hips pushing up, fucking Jay's mouth as he started to beg. "Christ, Jay, gotta come - let me come - " "Can you turn over? On your hands and knees?" "No... no... Just fucking... do it, what - whatever - gotta come, baby..." "Not yet." Jay's hand closed around Simon's swollen prick, cutting off his orgasm, and he wasn't sure but he thought Simon whimpered. "I know," he whispered, one hand tight on Simon's cock and the other still caressing the heavy balls. "I wanna come, too. I'm so hard, Simon, but I love this - I can do anything to you, and it's me making you ache. You're desperate for me." He looked up and Simon strained to lift to look down at him. Simon was flushed and panting, hair damp on his forehead, upper lip red and swollen from where he'd probably been biting it to keep from crying out. He was amazing and Jay had never felt as lucky as he did with this beautiful man handcuffed to his bed and begging for his touch. "Simon - " "Right here. Always here." "You're so beautiful," Jay whispered reverently. "I can't, I can't believe you're mine, you want me, want me to, to do this...." "Believe it, baby. Come up here and kiss me." Even Simon's voice sounded strained, husky and breathless, and that was beautiful, too. Jay sat up between Simon's legs - "I love you. Don't come." - and crawled back up Simon's body, feeling the ring in the tip of Simon's cock brush across his belly. And then they were back to square one, it felt like, Jay stretched on top of his trapped boyfriend, cocks long and hot caught between them, Simon's head in his hands, tongues plunging, teeth nipping. Their breath sounded loud to Jay, their words simply moans given vague shape. Simon wrapped his legs around Jay's waist and pushed up as Jay ground down and they rocked together with increasing urgency and this wasn't quite what Jay had in mind but he couldn't stop "Don't come," Jay panted, getting a hand between them to tug on Simon's nipple ring. Simon choked on his breath and Jay could feel Simon work to stifle his climax. "Jay - " he gasped. "Fucking hell - gonna die - "

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"No, you're, you're not - okay. Okay." He was trembling now, could feel Simon trembling with him. "Simon - still there? Come for me." No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Simon bucked underneath him and gasped his name and came hard, surrounding Jay with his scent and his heat. And Jay was right behind him, sobs lost in Simon's neck as his hips snapped and he came as well. For a minute he thought he'd passed out, but no, things were just a little fuzzy, a little unclear. It took another minute to realize that the rising and falling feeling was himself and Simon heaving for breath, and another minute after that to remember that the room was bright because they'd never turned the light off. "Fuck," Simon panted. "Fucking intense, that. Oughta tie me up more often." "I don't know if I can," Jay managed to say. "I feel like, I dunno. Like I'm crashing." He knew they were coming, the muscle spasms he sometimes got in the wake of an adrenaline high. "Same here. Unlock me, yeah? 'M all sore." "Sorry, sorry." Jay rolled over, scrabbled around on the bedside table until he found the key. He had to sit up and lean forward to get Simon unlocked, which made him a little nervous that he'd just fall over, but somehow he managed and collapsed on the bed when Simon was finally freed. Simon groaned softly as he shifted his shoulders and massaged his wrists. Jay clumsily rubbed what was left of their mixed come into Simon's skin, then into his own, and then they curled up together and held each other until the weird trembling stopped. "Fuck," Simon said again. "Wonder if Devon heard us." "Oh, God, I hope not. Was that, was it a good thank you?" "Reckon so. Bent me to your will, you did. Wanted to scream." Simon grinned tiredly, kissed Jay's mouth, his nose, his eyes. "Welcome home." "Right…." Oh, fuck, he was going to cry again. But this time maybe out of gratitude, and love, and a little bit of exhaustion. "I love you." "I know." Jay ducked his head because here they were, tears on cue, although he tried to stop them because this was getting ridiculous. But Simon just settled closer and crooned to him like he

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was a baby - "Shh, shh" - and it was comforting and soon Jay stopped. He felt much better but he couldn't say why. Maybe these tears were his last release, and maybe it was just that he really was home where he belonged, where he was happy. And maybe it was just the incredible fucking and Simon's arms around him and Simon's voice in his ear. "Okay?" Simon asked.

"Yeah. Thanks." Jay rolled over, his back to Simon's chest, and Simon wrapped an arm

around his shoulders and flung a leg over his hip. Jay pulled the arm down so he could twine

their fingers together.

"We're home now," Simon said sleepily, resting his cheek against Jay's shoulder. "Proof's in

the fucking. Like to know what your aunt would say to that."

Jay thought about it.

"Probably that she doesn't approve, but she's glad I'm happy."

"Good on her. Don't have to go back, do we?"

"No. This is, this is home. Wherever you are."

"Cool."

After that Jay figured Simon was asleep, even with the overhead light still on, and in a

minute he was, too.

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